


Only You

by LadyGoat



Series: It's Only You [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Assassin's Creed Odyssey
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-18 04:29:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16988058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGoat/pseuds/LadyGoat
Summary: This is my massive NaNo fic "It's Only You, Isn't It?" only with, you know, editing. Alexios x Lykaon, post-game, thrilling adventures leading to a happy ending. Posting sections up as I get them edited and pretty. Once it's all done I'll have a dropbox link with epub and mobi versions for them what wants an ebook that isn't formatted weirdly by AO3.





	1. Sparta and Delphi

**Author's Note:**

  * For [efp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/efp/gifts), [quills_at_dawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quills_at_dawn/gifts), [Dragomir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragomir/gifts).
  * Inspired by [It's Only You, Isn't It?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16553156) by [LadyGoat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGoat/pseuds/LadyGoat). 



SPARTA

“So, Alexios,” Myrrine said casually, the family gathered round the table for dinner. “Nikolaos and I have spoken. It's time for you to be married.”

Alexios froze, a chunk of lamb nearly in his mouth. Kassandra's eyebrows rose, and a scowl began gathering on Stentor's brow. “Married? Just like that?”

“Of course,” said Myrrine, serenely, reaching for the pitcher of wine. “As the eldest you are the heir to House Agiad, and so it falls to you to be married and produce an heir. We've had several inquiries for your hand already since we've returned.”

Alexios let his hand fall, his face going flat and blank. When he spoke again, his voice was hard. “You want me to get married. Here. In Sparta. And raise a child, again, here. In Sparta.”

Nikolaos raised one eyebrow and set his cup down, gesturing with his other hand to cut off Stentor before the young man could speak. “Of course here in Sparta. Is there a problem, Alexios?”

“I don't know, father. You tell me how I could possibly have a problem raising a child here in Sparta. Where you threw me off a mountain when I was ten years old because a corrupt woman told corrupt old men to murder your baby daughter. Where boys are sent off to the agoge at seven years old to live or die at the hands of brutal trainers. Who wouldn't want to raise a family here?”

Nikolaos shifted uncomfortably, lowering his eyes, and Myrrine slapped her hand down on the table. “Alexios, you are the heir--”

Alexios gestured sharply. “I’m not even a Spartan citizen except by the declaration of Archidamos. I never trained in the agoge. Let Stentor marry and continue House Agiad. He is a much better Spartan than I am, and a much better heir for Nikolaos. What do I have to offer? I'm a mercenary, mother, and I don't want to marry anyone in Sparta, much less have children here.”

“Our bloodline is too important!”

Kassandra coughed into her hand as Alexios started to laugh. Stentor turned beet red. “Don't worry yourself, mama, I've spread our precious bloodline across the Aegean. Even a few Spartan women wanted the Eagle Bearer himself in their beds. The bloodline will continue, even if it isn't a part of House Agiad.”

Nikolaos rubbed at his eyebrows with his fingers and thumb. “Alexios, regardless of your behavior on your adventures, the time has come for you to be a respectable Spartan citizen. You simply cannot continue unmarried and participate in the fullness of Spartan civic life.”

Alexios shoved the bench back from the table, standing in a fluid motion. “Did anyone stop to think that perhaps I don't want to participate in it? I've seen more than enough of Spartan civic life and I'm not raising a family here where Mount Taygetos feeds on the blood and bones of children.” He strode to the chest where his weapons and armor had been laid away after the defeat of the Cult of Kosmos, pulling on his cuirass with a smoothness born of long practice. Ikaros made an inquiring noise from a perch by the door.

“What are you doing?” Myrrine demanded.

“Leaving. I'm a mercenary, that's what we do.”

“Where will you go? This is your home, Alexios.”

“Anywhere but here. This hasn't been my home since I was thrown off Mount Taygetos.” Alexios slung his bundled weapons across his back and yanked the door open, Ikaros hopping to his shoulder as he disappeared into the night, the door slamming shut with finality behind him.

PHOKIS

Fast footsteps and a skidding stop behind Lykaon alerted him to the arrival of one of the boys the Spartans employed as messengers even before the lad burst out, “Doctor! Doctor! There are men here to see you, all the way from Athens!”

“I'm coming, child,” he said wearily, pushing himself up from where he knelt checking the work of an apprentice who had bandaged this particular soldier. The apprentice had done well, but it wouldn't matter in the end. The wound was bad, in the gut, and all they could really do was keep the Spartan comfortable with painkillers and wait to see if he lived or died.

Lykaon trudged out of the tent into the last light of the sun, wiping his hands on a rag. Two men stood amid the tired murmuration of the army camp post-battle, clean and wearing elegantly draped clothing. One was bald, the other pug-nosed and ugly. “Gentlemen,” he said. “I am Lykaon Arkadiou, the physician here. You wanted to see me?”

“Ah yes,” said the bald man. “I am Hippokrates Heraclidou of Kos, and my companion is Sokrates Sophroniscou of Alopeke. We're looking for a mercenary.”

“Hippokrates of Kos? The physician? I-- I read your latest treatise, I've read all of them, I have wished to study with you. It is a great honor to have you standing here. How can I help you? A mercenary, you say? I sent apprentices ahead to treat them, the Spartans contracted with me to care for the mercenaries who fought with them as well as for their own soldiers. It's this way.” Lykaon began to lead them to the edge of the camp, where a shabbier tent stood. He was aware he was babbling but somehow helpless to stop it.

“Indeed,” said the man identified as Sokrates. “A friend of ours, Alexios Nikola--” He was forced to catch Lykaon by the elbow as the thinner man stumbled.

“Alexios Nikolaou? A mercenary named Alexios Nikolaou? The Lakedaimonian? The Eagle Bearer? You think he's here?” Lykaon clutched at Sokrates's arm, remembering a ready smile, kind hands, and dark, dark eyes a man could fall into and never come out.

Sokrates raised both eyebrows. “Yes, that Alexios. Medium sized, disinclined to philosophy, starts battles as a profession if no one keeps him out of trouble.”

“We've-- we've met.” Lykaon released the other man's arm and turned, now hurrying toward the tent where the Spartans had gathered the mercenaries that survived the battle. “What makes you think he's here?”

Hippokrates chuckled drily. “When a battle breaks out in a previously stable deme, it does make a person suspicious. He disappeared from Sparta some weeks ago, and his sister contacted us asking us to look for him. We think he was behind the unrest in Megaris and Boiotia, but we weren't fast enough to catch him in either place. Then the Athenian general in Phokis died suddenly and in mysterious circumstances and we hurried this way.” A plaintive call interrupted him as they drew close to their destination. “And that's Ikaros, if my ears don't mistake me. At least we haven't missed him again.”

Lykaon led the way into the tent, pausing to let his eyes adjust to the dimness before sweeping them over the two rows of men lying here. Several of them lay very, very still. A few sat up, testing bandaged limbs. Across the tent, lying down, was a figure covered by a red chlamys he recognized, and he rushed that way, falling to his knees beside the pallet, his heart a painful thumping in his chest. “Alexios?” he whispered.

Alexios opened one eye, the other swollen shut, and something Lykaon could hardly bear blazed in his face. He clawed back the cloak covering him enough to grope for the doctor, who caught his hand, his fear a little relieved to find Alexios's grip strong and sure. Lykaon pressed his lips to the back of the mercenary's hand. “Alexios, what are you doing here?”

Alexios parted his lips, wincing a little as it reopened a split on his bottom lip, but then his eye flicked up over Lykaon's shoulder. “Who's this? Hippokrates? Sokrates? Why are you in Phokis?”

It was Sokrates who answered. “Your sister sent us looking for you after you left Sparta with never a word. We just missed you in Boiotia and Megaris. Then we heard about Athens's general and hurried here.”

Alexios closed his eye, blowing out a gust of breath. “I don't want to be found,” he rasped, his hand holding fast to Lykaon's. “Go home, Sokrates. Don’t tell Kass anything. She'll only tell Myrrine and Nikolaos where to find me. Hippokrates can stay and help Lykaon, then he can go home too.”

Lykaon rested the fingertips of his free hand against the pulse in Alexios's wrist, finding it fast but strong. Feeling greatly daring, he moved it to first brush the backs of his fingers against Alexios's cheek, then stroked the mercenary's hair gently. He watched, wondering, as the man's breathing slowed and deepened a little at his touch. Behind Lykaon, Hippokrates and Sokrates exchanged a look.

“I will stay,” said Hippokrates. “I have a feeling Lykaon might appreciate having another physician to assist him. And certainly no one is going to tell Kassandra anything without your consent, Alexios. We were all worried. Your line of work is dangerous, after all.”

Lykaon twisted around as far as he could without removing the hand stroking Alexios's hair. “Thank you. Your assistance will be invaluable. You and Sokrates both are welcome here, and I name you guest-friends. My home is open to you. You will find it just east of the animal pens near the agora.”

Both men recognized a dismissal when they heard one and murmured their farewells before picking their way out of the tent. Lykaon watched them go and then turned back to the man before him. “They're gone.”

Alexios opened his eye wearily. “Thank the gods. I don't know which of them is worse. Soon they'll have my whole family coming to Phokis to collect me.” He squeezed the doctor's hand. “I missed you, Lykaiskon.”

With a deft, gentle touch, Lykaon ran his fingertips along Alexios's eyebrows, soothing the tension away from his brow. “I could wish you were in somewhat better condition. Where are you hurt?”

“It's nothing important. Some bruises, some scrapes, a little bit of a stab that got through my armor by not my ribs. And I stopped a shield with the side of my face.”

Lykaon squeezed Alexios's hand. “I think you're supposed to get out of the way of those blows, my dear.”

Alexios started to chuckle, then winced. “Please don't make me laugh. I was busy stabbing a polemarchos at the time.”

Lykaon sighed. “Since you'll probably live, what are you doing here?”

Alexios fastened his intense gaze on Lykaon's face. “I came here to see you. But you were gone, and no one would tell me where you were. I looked and looked, all over Phokis, Lykaon. I thought you were dead. So I decided I would tear the deme apart around me until I found you. And look, it worked.”

Lykaon shook his head and leaned down to brush his lips across the mercenary's forehead. “Oh, my love. My darling man. My sister, Agave, moved to Boiotia, but was frightened after war broke out. So I went to help her move home. We got here just in time to hear that the Athenian general had died, and for me to answer a notice I found from the Spartans asking for doctors. And here we are. You can't start a war just because you don't get your way, Alexiskos.”

The mercenary closed his eye as Lykaon began stroking his hair again. “I thought you were dead. No one would tell me.” He could hear the petulant note to his own voice but seemed powerless to stop it. “If I'd found your grave I would have burned it all down.”

Lykaon sighed. “We'll talk about it later. For now, this is a terrible place to recover. Can you walk or shall I have the captain provide a litter?”

“For you I will fly like Pegasos. Tomorrow, maybe, after some rest.”

“Which you won't get here. My house will be much better for you, fresh air and sunlight and an actual bed.”

Alexios's eye flew open and he clenched his hand on Lykaon's. “Your house? Where you just sent Sokrates? And you think it will be restful?”

“Shhhh. I can defend you from one philosopher.”

“And when you're seeing to patients?”

“I think perhaps the tactful and accommodating Hippokrates realized there is only one patient who concerns me right now.”

Alexios smiled wearily. “Fetch the litter, then.”

Lykaon reluctantly released the mercenary's hand and set it on Alexios's chest, giving his hair one last gentle stroke. “It will be fine. You'll see.”

CHORA OF DELPHI

The trip by litter was worse than Alexios liked to admit, even with Spartan discipline keeping the bearers in step and cutting the jolts by half. By the time they reached Lykaon's house he was sweating and gripping the sides, his teeth gritted to keep from making a noise. The doctor fretted beside him the entire way, but he couldn't bring himself to care about word making its way back to Stentor and then to Nikolaos. If the word that his eldest son had fled to a male lover kept Nikolaos from trying to marry him off, it was all to the good.

Lykaon installed him in bed in the bedroom upstairs, with the shutters open to admit the breeze and clean linen that smelled of sunshine, and then went down to see what food was in the house. Alexios could hear the three familiar voices below, speaking quietly to each other. The sense of safety and peace had been unfamiliar of late, and he couldn't quite let himself relax into it for fear it would disappear as soon as he closed his eyes.

Footsteps on the stairs and the smell of food announced Lykaon before his dark, curly hair showed above the floor. He smiled to see Alexios watching him, his hands full of a bowl and a cup. “Nothing exciting tonight, I'm afraid. Some soup, and some well-watered wine with a painkiller in it. Then we'll see how well my apprentices did cleaning you up. Can you sit up by yourself, or would you like help?”

Alexios began struggling to get himself upright, and Lykaon rushed to set down his burdens next to the bed and assist. Finally, the mercenary leaned back against pillows, his lips tight and his breathing quick. Lykaon brushed his hair back from his face gently. “Breathe, Alexiskos. This will pass.”

Making an effort to smile, Alexios reached up and caught Lykaon's hand. “Thank you. For finding me, when I couldn't find you.”

Lykaon blushed. “If I'd known you were coming, I'd have waited for you before I left for Boiotia.” 

Alexios kissed the backs of Lykaon's fingers, his stubble prickling against the other man's skin. “If I'd known your sister was in Boiotia, I would have turned down the job.”

Lykaon cleared his throat and picked up the bowl of soup. “What's done is done. Agave is well, she's back here in Phokis and caring for our grandmother Praxithea again. And while I know you can't stay forever, I have you here for a little while, at least.”

Alexios accepted the bowl and sipped at the soup cautiously, then took a larger drink when the sip went over well. “What if I could?”

The doctor furrowed his brow. “What if you could what?”

“Stay forever. For as long as you wanted me to stay.”

“You don't need to make impossible promises to me. I know you have...obligations that require you to travel.”

Sighing, Alexios finished off the last of the soup before setting the bowl aside. “It's been a long day, my heart, and I'm afraid I'm not being very clear. My obligations are done. I have left Sparta and my family. There is nothing now but my work, and my fees are enough that I don't need to take every job.”

Lykaon pressed the cup of wine into Alexios's hand. “Drink that. Of course I'd like you to stay. And at the moment I don't think you're up to leaving, anyway. Set aside all your worries, and concentrate on resting and healing, my dear. We'll sort out your future when you're up to it. But you have a place here as long as you want one.”

The mercenary took a gulp of wine to cover his attempt to swallow the lump in his throat, then made a face. “This tastes of bile and the kinds of things healers inflict on patients to assault them into getting better.”

Chuckling, the doctor motioned to him to continue drinking. “Hippokrates advised me on ingredients. You'll want it when we clean your wounds, he's discussed with me a method involving vinegar to prevent them becoming putrid. It was either painkillers, or we let Sokrates distract you. Was the wound on your ribs sewn?”

Alexios rolled his eyes, swallowing the rest of the wine quickly. “May the gods defend me from Sokrates. No, it was not. Your apprentices might have attempted it, but I didn't like the look of them and drove them off.”

“Silly man. I trained them myself, using the methods I learned from Hippokrates's treatises.”

“A mercenary has little reason to trust doctors, whichever army hired them. It's cheaper to let us die and take back our pay.”

Lykaon collected the bowl and took the cup from Alexios. “Well, you've no need to fear now. I don't intend to let you die when I've found you again, and in such an agreeable mood. I'll return in a moment with Hippokrates to clean you up, and then we'll let you rest. Your armor and weapons are in my chest downstairs, and Ikaros is preening by the fire. All is well, Alexiskos.”

Alexios let his good eye fall shut and leaned his head back against the pillows. “Maybe I can believe it now.”

He thought he must have lost some time dozing off. It seemed Hippokrates and Lykaon materialized beside the bed. His head was fuzzy from whatever had been in the wine, but he trusted both of them and floated in the warmth of the medication as Lykaon's deft hands unfastened the fibulae at the shoulders of his chiton. He smiled beatifically. “This was more fun last time.”

Lykaon blushed and Hippokrates tried to look stern as the younger doctor carefully folded back the length of cloth covering Alexios. The blush immediately disappeared and his face sobered. “I won't dispute that. I've seen you looking better.”

Hippokrates handed the younger doctor a bowl and a cloth. “Never fear, Lykaon. We'll have him back on his feet soon enough.”

Lykaon nodded. “Alexiskos, my dear, this isn't going to be pleasant even with the painkillers we gave you.” He gently moved the warrior's arm out of the way and pinned it with one knee, dipping the rag in the bowl of vinegar he held and beginning to clean the blood and grime from Alexios's side. The stab wound was a vertical slit with a shallow pocket behind it where the point of the spear had slid slightly against the rib. The area was bruised and discolored.

Hippokrates leaned down to look more closely at the injury. “I think we won't sew this one,” he said over the sound of Alexios swearing. “The inside must heal, then the outside, so that if there is pus it can escape. With it so close to the heart and lungs...”

Lykaon set the bowl and rag aside, stroking Alexios's cheek. “There, then. A clean bandage, and you're done until tomorrow, my dear. With this one.” Alexios clenched his jaw as Hippokrates helped him sit forward and Lykaon placed a pad of clean cloth against the wound, winding linen around him to hold it in place. After rearranging the pillows so Alexios could lie down, the two doctors lowered him carefully. “Let me just see to your minor wounds so they don't become major wounds, and you can rest.”

As Lykaon began tending to the scuffs on Alexios's knuckles and the shallow cuts on his forearms, Hippokrates discreetly retired downstairs. The mercenary's pain receded with the footsteps, Lykaon's voice quietly murmuring encouragement in his ears. “Stay with me.”

The doctor glanced up at him. “Hmmm?”

Alexios tightened his fingers on the hand gently cradling his own. “Stay with me tonight.”

Lykaon snorted. “My dear, I realize you're enjoying the opium but you're in no condition--”

“No. Just stay with me. So when I wake up I'll know this wasn't a dream.”

His expression softening, Lykaon gave Alexios's fingers a squeeze. “Of course. How thoughtless of me. Yes, of course I'll stay with you tonight.” 

The tension melted out of the man's face and shoulders, his entire body seeming to slump as he said, “Thank you. I was so worried, when I came here and couldn't find you. I thought I’d lost you. I don't want to wake in the night and think I dreamed all of this.”

“Just let me take this bowl downstairs and clean it, and I'll be back. All really is well, my love.”

The mercenary let Lykaon's fingers slide from his, relaxing into the comfort of the mattress and the sound of voices from downstairs again. Finally, the peace carried him away.

 

The watery light of dawn and a full bladder woke Alexios. He came suddenly awake, lying very still as he tried to remember where he was and why. His head pounded, his side ached and burned, and the rest of his body was stiff and sore. Turning his head carefully, he found Lykaon still beside him, and memory came rushing back in. He smiled, then began carefully easing out of the bed. It took longer than he'd like, but finally he was on his feet, wrapping his chiton around him and fastening it at one shoulder before tying a belt loosely around his waist.

Padding quietly down the stairs, he found Sokrates and Hippokrates still asleep on couches, Ikaros perched on the back of a chair with his head under one wing. He made his way carefully outside to take care of his bladder, relieved as always after a battle to find no blood in his urine. Coming back into the house, he spotted Lykaon's chest and was checking to be sure his possessions were all present when he heard a quiet tread on the stairs.

“Leaving?” asked Lykaon, careful to pitch his voice low.

Alexios shook his head, closing the chest and pushing himself upright to go to him and rest his hands on Lykaon's waist. “No. Not unless you're asking me to. But it's difficult to rest without knowing how clean my blades are.”

The doctor smiled softly. “Of course I'm not asking you to leave. Come back to bed, Alexiskos, you need more rest.”

Alexios leaned his forehead gently against Lykaon's. “Are you coming with me?”

“If it's the only way to make you lie still a little while longer.”

“It is.”

“You drive a hard bargain, mercenary.” Lykaon slipped from Alexios's grasp and led him back up the stairs. “Besides, if we stay downstairs we'll wake my distinguished guests.”

Alexios slid back under the blankets, rolling onto his side so he could face the other man. “No one wants to deal with Sokrates questioning them at the first light of dawn.”

Lykaon laughed quietly. “I don't doubt it. But tell me what's happened to you since we last parted. You were so close to having your vengeance, to finding your sister.”

Alexios glanced down, finding one of Lykaon's hands and bringing it to his chest to cradle it there. “I did find the last of the Cult of Kosmos, and destroy them. And my mother and I found my sister, and we brought her home to Sparta. Then my parents began searching for a bride for me.”

The doctor found it difficult to breathe suddenly, his eyes searching Alexios's face. “I imagine there was no shortage of applicants,” he managed to choke out.

“I imagine not. But I don't want to marry and raise a family in Sparta. They threw me from a mountain there. They kill children in the agoge there. Even more...for these past many months, for so many people, I have been only a weapon. A tool to be aimed at their enemies, even for my parents. I thought... I thought when this was all over, perhaps that would change. Perhaps they would see me as a man.” Alexios stopped, breathing a little hard, and brought one warm, callused hand up to cradle the back of Lykaon's neck and gently touched his forehead to the doctor's. Lykaon, as always, was conscious of Alexios's strength, held carefully in check. “They didn't, Lykaiskon. Instead I became a tool for the expansion of the family's glory. You’ve always been the only one who just wanted me.”

Alexios smiled softly. “I was already thinking of coming back to you, but the night that they told me I must marry, I left their home and I left Sparta. I don’t want to be the Eagle Bearer, Lykaiskon. I just want to be Alexios who makes you happy.”

Lykaon brushed his lips against Alexios's, feeling his beard catch on the other man's stubble. “And Megaris? Boiotia?”

Alexios looked down. “And I was too angry to come directly to you. I was the weapon they wanted me to be. I didn't want to come to you like that. So I took a little work.”

Lykaon reached up with his free hand to lay the palm along Alexios's cheek. “Oh, you silly man, I would have been delighted to see you regardless. You should know that, by now.”

Alexios smiled and tilted his head just enough to capture Lykaon's mouth with his own, the kiss tender but with a little rising heat behind it. “I don't deserve you, healer.”

The doctor slid a little closer and tangled his legs up with the mercenary's. “Of course you do.”

Alexios kissed him again, hungrier this time, the hand at the back of Lykaon's neck tensing just enough to keep him close. His other hand pressed Lykaon's hand to his chest, where his heart beat strongly, speeding its rhythm just a little. “Do you think, if I were very careful not to exert myself more than my physician felt wise...” he murmured against Lykaon's lips, trailing off distractedly as he pressed his body into the other man's.

Lykaon laughed and nipped at Alexios's bottom lip gently. “Your physician thinks you should eat breakfast, and that later perhaps the eminent Athenians can be sent to the Spartan camp, or to consult the Oracle, and we will be able to have a proper reunion then.”

The mercenary groaned. “Let them hear us.” He kissed Lykaon, short and fierce, and then again. “I didn't ask them to come here, or my sister to send them. And it is possible I will die of longing if I can't feel your skin on mine.” He rocked his pelvis a little, his arousal evident.

Laughing again, a little breathlessly, Lykaon ran a firm hand down Alexios's back, reveling in having his lover back again. “Breakfast, Alexios. Then I'll sort out my responsibilities to my patients for the day. But I promise after that we'll find some time alone.”

Heaving a dramatic sigh, Alexios flopped onto his back, unable to suppress a wince as the movement jarred his side. “The gods are testing me. I should throw you over my shoulder and carry you away from all of your responsibilities.”

“As long as it's after that hole in your side closes up,” said Lykaon, levering himself out of bed and wrapping his himation around himself. “Perhaps the delayed gratification will teach you to parry or get out of the way faster.”

Alexios rolled his eyes, unable to keep a smile off his face nonetheless. “You drive a hard bargain, doctor.”

“Indeed I do. Come downstairs at your leisure, and we'll get some food into you. It's possible there was milk delivered yesterday that should have curdled nicely by now,” Lykaon said, as casually as he could manage but with a smile at the corners of his mouth.

His lover laughed. “You know me too well. For teganites I will even brave Sokrates first thing in the morning.”

By the time Alexios came downstairs a few minutes later, lured by the smell of the teganites, he managed a reasonable imitation of his usual saunter to the front door to stick his head outside. “Lykaiskon, can I help you with anything since these distinguished gentlemen are sitting like lumps?”

“You know where the honey and cheese are, and I know that you're going to make sad eyes at me if they're not on the table, so you might as well put them there,” Lykaon said from where he was sliding the last of the flat, unleavened cakes onto a stack of them. “I'll be right behind you.”

Alexios winked at him, then ducked back inside, leaving the door ajar, and went to fetch the honey and cheese, nodding to Sokrates and Hippokrates before placing his burdens on the table next to the plate Lykaon had brought in and dropping into a chair. “Chaire, friends. Did you sleep well?”

“Very well indeed,” said Hippokrates, reaching for the top cake and recoiling when Alexios swatted his hand away, deftly snagging it for himself. The mercenary blinked innocently at him and crumbled cheese over it before drizzling it with honey.

Lykaon laughed aloud. “My apologies, gentlemen, for failing to warn you that he gets possessive of breakfast treats. But now that he's got one, it should be safe for the rest of us.”

The rest of the men served themselves as Alexios stuffed the entire thing into his mouth, chewing contentedly. They all ate in silence for a few moments, until Sokrates looked up as the mercenary took his second teganite. “So what are your plans, Alexios?”

Alexios eyed the philosopher warily. “Plans? I thought I'd finish breakfast, then perhaps clean my armor and weapons while my doctor sees to his patients. After that we may disappear into the forest above Delphi.”

Hippokrates sighed and Sokrates rolled his eyes. “I meant in the somewhat longer term. Surely you can't intend to stay here in Delphi. Your family is worried. Don't you think family obligations are important?”

Alexios took a bite from his second pancake, shaking his head, then swallowing. “I'm not in the mood for your games, Sokrates. I do not think I have any particular obligation to a family that threw me off a mountain and has Stentor to marry off to perpetuate the house, no. And perhaps we will not stay in Delphi. We could go anywhere, after all, I've made quite the name for myself. Have you ever been to Athens, Lykaiskon? I understand they always need doctors and mercenaries.”

Lykaon raised his eyebrows a little. “No, I've never been to Athens.”

“Well, there you are, Sokrates. Perhaps we'll come to see you in Athens. And then, who knows. Aegyptos, maybe.” Alexios thoughtfully licked honey off his fingers. “I understand they have many wonders there.”

Sokrates frowned. “You really intend to exile yourself from Sparta.”

Alexios nodded. “Yes. If you weren’t friends of mine I’d have buried you on the mountainside already to stop you reporting back to Kass, I’m that serious.”

The philosopher gestured out the door. “You won't at least send word to tell them you aren't dead and buried on a mountainside yourself? Kassandra and Myrrine worry over you. When they said you'd disappeared, we were worried. You're lucky it was Hippokrates who came with me and not Alkibiades.”

Alexios laughed, short and sharp. “I can't imagine convincing Alkibiades to leave the city and come to a place as small as the Chora. Maybe I’ll send a message to him at least. I didn't imagine that my family would write to Athens of all places trying to search for me.”

Hippokrates laid a hand on Sokrates's shoulder as the shorter man opened his mouth to speak again. “We understand, Alexios. I thought we would rest here another day or two, perhaps, and then be on our way back to Athens. Lykaon, there were some patients outside for you earlier. I took the liberty of seeing them, thinking that you did not wish to be disturbed.”

Lykaon inclined his head to the older physician. “You have my gratitude, sir. Perhaps we can go together to the army camp, and see to the patients there. I left my apprentices to watch over them, of course, but I'll need to reevaluate.”

“I thought perhaps I might go and take Sokrates,” said Hippokrates, “if you'll write us a letter of introduction. I hesitate to leave these two alone lest we come back to find the walls painted with blood.”

Sokrates glared. Alexios crossed his arms on his chest. “I'm right here, you know.”

Lykaon rested a hand on Alexios's thigh under the table, giving a warning squeeze. “Believe me, we know. Hippokrates, I would be deeply grateful. Let me fetch my pen and some papyrus.”

Alexios stood as Lykaon did, following close behind to the next room and slipping his arms around Lykaon's waist to kiss the back of his neck as he gathered a pen and papyrus from the table he used for a desk. He leaned gently back into Alexios's chest, feeling tension in the muscles there. “Just a few moments more,” he murmured, “And then we'll be on our way. Either to a sunny grove on the slopes, or just back up to bed.”

Kissing his neck one last time, Alexios released him and followed him back to the front room. Lykaon seated himself and neatly wrote a brief letter, which he slid over to Hippokrates. “You sincerely have my gratitude, sir.”

The other physician smiled wryly, his eyes flicking over Lykaon's shoulder to where Alexios stood with arms crossed again, brooding and surly. “Between Sokrates and myself, one of us must have some tact and empathy. Come, Sokrates, I'll teach you to roll bandages.” Gripping the slightly rotund philosopher by the arm, Hippokrates took the letter and led him from the house.

Lykaon blew out a breath. Behind him, Alexios said, “I'm not going back.”

The doctor stood and turned to him, clasping his upper arms. “I don't know who you're arguing with, my heart. I am the least likely man in Phokis to attempt to send you back to Sparta.”

Alexios smiled a little at that, though his eyes were still dark and his body still tense. “Good. I won’t leave you again, Lykaiskon. The gods know I’ve done it enough hunting the Cult and family secrets. All that came from it was death.”

Lykaon squeezed Alexios's arms gently. “I know, my dear. I know. But it's over now, and the only thing we have to decide at the moment is whether you're feeling up to a short walk up the mountainside, or whether you'd rather go back to bed.”

Finally Alexios uncrossed his arms, reaching out to gather Lykaon close and nuzzle at his neck. “The bed is closer. We could start there.”

Lykaon tilted his head to the side, shivering at the prickle of his lover's stubble against his skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth and softness of the lips caressing his skin. “I won't argue,” he murmured. “But if you break that hole in your side open, we're stopping.”

Alexios bit softly at his exposed shoulder, pressing closer as if trying to melt into him, and smiled to hear Lykaon's soft gasp. “Of course. I wouldn't dream of disobeying my doctor.”

He found the open side of Alexios's chiton and slid a hand in, caressing his flank first with the palm of his hand and then dragging his nails over the skin softly. “Don't tell lies, Alexios, it's wicked.” 

They were lying, sated and half-dozing all tangled up with one another, in a beam of late afternoon sunlight coming in the open window when they heard Sokrates's voice coming up the road. Alexios flopped an arm over his eyes. “Gods preserve us, they're back. And Sokrates has probably thought of six philosophical dilemmas with which to torment me.”

Lykaon propped his head on one hand, admiring the way the raised arm defined muscles in his beloved's chest and bicep. “I don't know why he vexes you so.”

Alexios shifted his arm enough to peer out from under it. “I'm not a man of words, Lykaiskon. And I can't fix everything with my fists. Even though Sokrates probably has it coming.”

“He does seem to delight in driving people to distraction.” Lykaon trailed his fingertips along the soft skin on the inside of Alexios's upper arm and down onto his chest, watching him shiver and his eyes light with the combination of desire and joy that always marked their time together. Alexios stretched, languid and enjoying the gentle touch. They could hear Hippokrates now, indistinct, replying to Sokrates.

“You're going to drive me to distraction. If you want to greet your distinguished guests, we should get out of bed now. Otherwise I might not let you up until morning.”

Lykaon leaned down and kissed him. “Amazing. You're being the practical one. What's next, Athens and Sparta signing a peace treaty?”

Alexios laughed as they heard footsteps come into the house. “I'd have to find honest work, then.”

They dressed, Alexios as usual rolling his eyes at the suggestion he borrow a himation but fastening his chiton at both shoulders. With each step down the stairs, Lykaon could see tension returning to his back and shoulders and knew that his face was closing down and the warm light was fading from his eyes. By the time they reached the bottom and Lykaon was greeting the Athenians, Alexios was guarded once again.

“Anaxilas sends his greetings and a bonus for you, Lykaon. Evidently he wasn't expecting so many of his wounded to live. He said to tell you they'll withdraw to the fort in the morning, and that he'd like to discuss permanent employment with you,” Hippokrates said, setting a small heavy pouch on the table.

Lykaon smiled with pleasure. “I'm glad things went well. I'll have to go up to the fort later this week to meet with him.”

The older physician nodded. “A patron in Sparta's army is worth having if they plan to stay. At least until they start losing battles. Although in your case I worry less about you being protected from the wrath of opposing armies.” He smiled over Lykaon's shoulder at Alexios, who leaned against the wall, arms folded on his chest.

Sokrates laughed at that. “Indeed, the Athenian army might worry about threatening you.”

Lykaon shrugged philosophically. “It's to be considered later. The future is still somewhat undecided, after all, since I might be dragged off to visit Athens at any given moment.”

“Sokrates and I thought we might set out to return ourselves, in the morning,” Hippokrates replied, drumming his fingers on the table. “Alexios, surely you will at least send word to your family that you aren't dead, even if you don't tell them where you are.”

Alexios barked harsh laughter. “I'll let you do it. Send a letter to Nikolaos and tell him his son is playing the woman for a farmer in Makedonia. Stentor wants to inherit, let him do so. I will neither return nor give them the opportunity to send more messengers.”

The other three men all winced. An awkward silence hung for a moment in the air, finally broken by Sokrates.

“Are you certain? Your family--”

“Isn’t your business. This isn't one of your pretty games and it isn't something you can talk me out of. I am done with Lakedaimon, with Sparta, with the ephors and Mount Taygetos, and I am done with House Agiad and Nikolaos who’s a slave to them all.”

Lykaon turned to study Alexios's face for a moment, then went to him, not caring that the other two men were watching, and carefully cradled his face. “I won't let anyone take you back there. You know that.”

A touch of tension eased out of Alexios's shoulders and his eyes softened as he met Lykaon's gaze. “I know. But I won't have them dragging you into their stupid, brutal games, either.”

Hippokrates coughed behind them. “Well, then. That's settled. You said you would also send word to Alkibiades?”

The mercenary's laugh was more genuine that time. “I was joking. But I should, before he holds a funeral feast for me unrivaled in its ability to shock and appall. You can tell him I’m still alive, and I hope he’s successful with Sokrates since I’m not available.”

Lykaon blushed, turning to sit at the table and pour himself a cup of wine. Sokrates's eyebrows climbed toward his hairline.

Hippokrates chuckled. “Indeed. Then let us all dine tonight as friends, and Sokrates and I will catch you up on all the latest Athenian gossip. Not all of it features Alkibiades.”

Pushing off the wall, Alexios came to sit next to Lykaon. “He would be disappointed to hear it. But who rules in Athens with Kleon and Aspasia dead?”

Pouring wine for Hippokrates, Alexios, and himself, Sokrates shook his head. “Now that does feature Alkibiades. Nikias attempts to bring back the rule of the nobility, blaming our failure to progress against Sparta on Kleon's excess of democracy. The recent losses here and in Boiotia will only strengthen his cause, I'm afraid. Alkibiades opposes him, giving speeches on the Pnyx.”

Alexios shrugged one-shouldered to avoid pulling at the wound on his side. The bruise on the side of his face made him look particularly warlike and recalcitrant. “Athenians should pay more, then maybe Spartan generals in the field would start having fatal accidents.”

The pug-nosed philosopher glared. “Do you even care which side wins?”

There was no one but the mercenary in Alexios's impassive face as he took a drink of wine and met Sokrates's glare with a level stare. “No. They both kill children. I won't weep if Sparta falls, and Athens would make a good funeral pyre for Phoibe.”

Lykaon and Hippokrates met each other's eyes, then Lykaon rested a hand on Alexios's knee, finding the muscles under his palm taut with restrained tension. Hippokrates's sudden movement and Sokrates's yelp suggested the older physician had kicked the philosopher in the ankle.

The younger doctor addressed the older in the conversational opening they'd created. “And how does the city recover from the plague?”

Hippokrates sighed. “Well enough. I worry that sickness will strike again, but conditions are less crowded now through that unfortunate method. Perhaps one quarter of the city was taken, in the end.”

“What tragedy,” Lykaon shook his head. “We were lucky to be spared it elsewhere.” He gave Alexios's knee a squeeze and stood to move about the room, gathering bread, cheese, and olives and setting them on the table. “I saw no cases corresponding with the sickness reported from Athens, and my colleagues in the Peloponnese report the same.” He refilled the pitcher on the table with water and wine and sat again.

“Indeed,” said Sokrates, eyeing Alexios warily as he helped himself to food and drink. “It seems the disease struck only Athens and her allies.”

“I have a theory,” Hippokrates began. Lykaon perked up with interest even as Sokrates rolled his eyes. Alexios, serving himself to bread and cheese, gradually let himself relax into the dinner, listening to the two doctors discuss what had to him been only nameless horror and burning bodies compounded by murder.

 

In bed, later, with a breeze coming in the windows and Alexios idly caressing his chest, Lykaon asked softly, “Did you really mean it about going to Athens, or was that only to torment Sokrates?”

His lover kissed the point of his shoulder and said against his skin, “My heart, if there is anywhere you wish to go, I will move the earth to take you there. Say the word. Athens? Argos? Mytikas where the gods live? For you I might even go back to Sparta, if for some reason you wanted to see it.”

Lykaon laughed and patted the hand on his chest. “I think I'm less likely to climb mountains than you are, darling man, and I’d never make you go back to Sparta. But I've always wanted to see Athens.”

Moving up to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, Alexios paused to bite softly, drawing a shiver from him. “Then we'll go. I'll take you to symposia, you can study with Hippokrates if you like. Alkibiades will try to steal you away from me.”

He traced his fingertips over the muscles in Alexios's forearm, moving his head a little to the side. “Try to steal me? I thought you two were...”

“Lovers, yes, once. But you are prettier than I am, no scars to ruin your hide. And you'll be a novelty. It will crush him to be rejected.”

Lykaon rubbed his fingers over a scar on Alexios's upper arm, shivering as the other man's hand wandered down his side. “It's hard to imagine you at Athens symposia.”

Alexios laughed against his throat. “I was very good at the drinking part. And the fornication part Alkibiades ran in the back rooms. Not so much the philosophy part that Sokrates and the others were engaged in, out in the respectable areas.” 

Lykaon smiled, “And yet you'd attend them with me?”

“I would. And leave Alkibiades to entertain himself. You're stuck with me, physician. All we need to do is decide when we leave for Athens. I don't want to travel with Sokrates, I'll kill him. But otherwise there’s nothing but you keeping me here.”

“Oh. I still need to meet with Anaxilas, perhaps get started there. And I'll need to be sure my apprentices can handle my patients here in the Chora.”

“No. I don't want you working for the Spartan army.” Alexios's arms tightened around him. “You don't know what they're like. And what happens when Athens does start offering me more money and you're working in a fort I'm breaking into so I can murder your employer?”

Lykaon sighed, wiggling a little to get comfortable in the tighter grip. “It's a very good opportunity, you know. To have a patron, and to gain more experience with war injuries.”

“A Spartan patron, who will treat you like they treat everyone who isn't a Spartiate. You can learn about war injuries on me. Or work with Hippokrates in Athens.”

“Stubborn. And I prefer you uninjured.”

“I know the Spartan army better than you do. I don't want you involved with them.”

Yawning hugely, Lykaon said, “Can we argue about this in the morning, Alexiskos?”

Alexios sighed and dropped his head to kiss his shoulder. “I suppose. I don't mean to be a tyrant, my heart. If you truly want to work for them, of course you should.”

“Mmm. But you'll be lurking nearby every moment.”

“Unless you send me away.”

“As if I would. I prefer to know where you are, and if I sent you away you'd only be sneaking around.”

Alexios's voice was studiously innocent in the dark. “Someone has to watch your back.”

The morning was cool and quiet, with a hint of fall in the air. After the Athenians left and Lykaon saw to the patients waiting outside, he and Alexios relaxed in the sun, Alexios's head in his lap and eyes closed as Lykaon toyed with the small braids in the mercenary's hair.

“Do you know, I think your face is less fearsomely bruised already?”

“Thank the gods, I'd hate to think my good looks would be ruined.”

Lykaon brushed a hand over the other man's hair. “Alexiskos?”

“Hmm?”

“What happened between you and Alkibiades?”

Alexios opened his eyes to study Lykaon a moment, eyes searching his face. He seemed to be satisfied with whatever he saw there, because he closed his eyes again and sighed. “We were lovers. I did some favors for him. He told me I was... ‘useful’ was the word he used. I left Athens, and haven't stayed there long or seen him since.”

Lykaon brushed the backs of his fingers against Alexios's cheek. “Oh, my love, I am so sorry.”

Alexios raised and dropped one shoulder in a minimal shrug. “That was when I decided that however you felt about a mercenary wandering in and out of your life, for me there was no one else.”

Resting one hand on Alexios’s chest, Lykaon traced the bones in his face lightly with the fingertips of his other hand. “I'm not glad for how he used you. But I'm not sorry to have you, either. I've never met anyone like you.”

Alexios smiled softly. “The Chora of Delphi is a small place, my heart.”

Lykaon poked his chest gently. “But the whole Greek world comes to the Sanctuary. I've met people from all over. When we were small Agave and I would run around all day, waiting for grandmother to finish prophesying.”

“Funny, isn't it? When I was small I ran around Kephallonia, stealing for Markos. It's only been these past months that I've traveled, and not been able to stop. The Adrestia has been my home, and it was always moving under me.”

“I've never been out to sea,” Lykaon replied a little wistfully.

Alexios grinned up at him. “Well, I sent word to Barnabas, my captain, when I couldn't find you. In another few days he'll be at the dock at Thermopylae, and we can sail down to the port of Piraeus instead of walking to Athens.”

A delighted smile broke across Lykaon's face. “Is there any wish of mine you can't make come true?”

“Try me and see.”


	2. Delphi to Athens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heroes travel from the Chora of Delphi to Athens, and what befalls them during their time there.

THE WINE-DARK SEA

It took the better part of seven days for them to be ready to travel, and in the end it wasn't Lykaon's preparations that took the most time but Alexios's. He fretted over everything from the doctor's clothing and sandals to whether or not to buy a donkey to carry their baggage, deciding against it in the end. He did however go to the agora at the Sanctuary and return with a slightly shabby chlamys and chiton for Lykaon, as well as a new pair of sturdy sandals.

“We don't want you looking too prosperous. It's a day's trip if we take the shortcut between roads from the Sanctuary down to the dock, and there's nothing in the woods but bandits and wolves. I'll end any fight a bandit starts, but it would be better to avoid them in the first place.” Alexios sat down at the table, setting his purchases aside to start on the food laid out for dinner.

Lykaon nodded. “I understand, although I'll feel very plain,” he smiled.

Folding a piece of bread around a generous slice of lamb, Alexios grinned. “We can appease your vanity once we're in Athens. I'll buy you finery to compete with the fanciest citizens, if you want it. Koan silk and golden armbands.” 

Laughing, Lykaon laid slices of lamb on bread and spread them with yogurt and dill. “Is this shortcut you were speaking of an actual path?”

Alexios shook his head. “No. There's a little bit of a scramble down the far side of the ridge, but we'll at least be on the road going up. I didn't want to be too hard on you. It saves us another day's travel, and finding an inn or a place to camp.”

The doctor looked daunted. “I'm accustomed to the trip to the Sanctuary, of course. The forest will be a different experience.”

“We'll be careful and slow. No broken legs so early in the trip, it's a bad omen. There's a nice place just over the ridge where we can stop for lunch and a rest before it's all downhill to the beach and the dock. The Adrestia will be waiting to carry us to Athens with speed and comfort. No ship on the Aegean can outrun or out-fight her.” Alexios drained his cup and set it down. “It will be good to show you the sea.”

“In the morning, then.”

“In the morning.”

 

The day dawned clear and mild, Alexios opening his eyes at the first touch of light as usual. He shook Lykaon gently awake, the two of them dressing in companionable quiet and without Alexios's usual attempts to delay. Downstairs, the doctor gave final instructions to his apprentices, listening with one ear to the sounds of Alexios getting out his armor and weapons and pulling them on. Before, the sounds had always filled him with melancholy, meaning that the mercenary was preparing to leave again. Today, they made his stomach flip with equal parts anxiety and excitement.

Alexios finished the last adjustments of his armor on autopilot, tightening ties and straps until it fit like a second skin. Slinging the bundle of water skin, his chlamys, bow, and the spear of Leonidas on his back, he checked the hang of his sword and its draw. The wound in his side limited his movement, but only if he didn't want to pull on it and risk reopening it. His bruises and scrapes had healed, and he was well-rested. Travel food went into the pouches at his belt, along with the little bit of money he'd left out of the larger pouch tucked into his chiton. He gave himself a shake to make sure everything was secure, then padded out to stand behind Lykaon, who was finally bidding farewell to his apprentices. They'd met him before, but never armored and armed and standing cross-armed and impassive behind their master. The young men cut their farewells short.

Lykaon turned to him as they hurried to the treatment area behind the house, his short curly hair free of a circlet at Alexios's insistence. “That explains why they left so suddenly. Are you ready, my dear?”

Alexios nodded, gesturing to the road away from the village agora. “After you, Lykaiskon. An easy walk over the mountain, then an easier sail down to Athens.” He placed himself on Lykaon's right side, adjusting his stride to match as they left the Chora. “Just one thing, Lykaon.”

He glanced over, surprised by the use of his proper name and Alexios's tone of voice. “Yes?”

“If a fight does start, I'll end it. You don't get involved. Stay back and out of my way.”

Lykaon swallowed. “Of course. Do you expect trouble?”

Alexios's face softened and he reached out and clasped the other man's shoulder gently. “I always expect trouble, while hoping not to meet it. But I don't want to have to worry about not hitting you on the back swing. Better for you to be back far enough that I can take care of trouble quickly.”

Lykaon nodded. “I understand.”

Alexios fell back behind him as the road grew more crowded with pilgrims, the very picture of a hired guard. With the mercenary's well-armed presence in attendance, none of the crowds intruded on Lykaon's space, a novel experience for the doctor. Even the usual beggars along the road directed their attention to other targets, something Lykaon found funny since he knew that Alexios almost always had a spare drachma for those in need. At the gates to the Sanctuary, the crowds split off and the two men continued on their way around the temple complex, heading north up the mountainside. They passed the water skin back and forth to wash the dust the pilgrims had raised from their throats.

“Wolves and bears in the woods,” Alexios said conversationally, moving up beside him. “And there were pilgrims speaking of a bandit camp. We'll try not to meet up with any of them.”

Lykaon smiled over at him. “I'm sure it will be fine. The gods have sent a beautiful day for a journey, and good company.”

He smiled in return. “It's a little strange to have someone on the road with me. All these months I've been alone unless I was at sea. Tell me if I'm pushing you too hard, my heart.”

“I will. But I'm fine, and if we stop for lunch and it's all down the mountain after that, I don't think it will be a problem unless you want to run to Thermopylae.”

Alexios shook his head. “No need today. We should be down the mountain before dark at this pace.” He scanned the side of the road. “A little further along and we'll turn off to cut over the ridge.... Ah, there's the marker I left. After I met you the first time, actually.”

“Where were you headed?” Lykaon asked, following him off the road and into the trees.

“To meet Herodotos at Thermopylae. I could have taken the Traitor's Path – did I tell you I found it? – but couldn't bring myself to follow in Ephialtes's footprints. So I came over the mountain and stayed in the light instead, marking my trail in case I wanted to return this way.” He turned back at the top of the ridge to grin down at Lykaon. “The area held...certain attractions for me, after all.”

The doctor stopped next to him, pleased to be only a little out of breath, and took his hand. “I wish I'd known you were planning to return, that day. Between Praxithea and your departure, I spent it feeling aimless and abandoned.”

Alexios leaned in to kiss him swiftly and softly. “If I'd known how you felt, I would have told you I intended to return. I try not to leave people bereft. Come, there's a flat and sheltered place just over here where we can sit. We don't even have to worry about water, we'll cross a stream just down the slope.”

The mercenary was as good as his word and there was indeed an ideal spot to sit and rest and eat bread and olives next to each other, leaning back against a sun-warmed rock. Lykaon leaned briefly against Alexios's shoulder, almost drowsing after the morning's unaccustomed exertions. “You make a poor pillow with all this armor on.”

“My unfortunate Lykaon. I'll have a chance to take it off again in Athens, just for you.”

“As if the city didn't already sound attractive.”

Alexios smiled. “If Poseidon favors us, it will take about a day to go from Thermopylae to Piraeus. Maybe a little more, maybe a little less. Then an easy walk into Athens along city streets, to Perikles's home, where Hippokrates is staying. Then what we see is up to you.”

“We'd better get going then, hadn't we?”

Getting fluidly to his feet, Alexios extended a hand and helped Lykaon up. The doctor had stiffened up a little during the break, and winced. “I'm afraid I'm not made for this.”

“We can't all be. Stay behind me down the mountain, until we strike the road again. If you fall, I can stop you before a tree does.”

They moved slowly and carefully carefully down the slope with no more serious mishap than Lykaon scuffing an elbow and a glimpse of a bear moving through the trees a good distance away. At the bottom of it was a road, and Alexios turned them right, his stride still enviably easy as the sun sank toward the horizon. Finally they came around a rock wall and Lykaon had his first look at the Adrestia, painted in green and gold, riding easily against the ropes tying her to the pier and her own anchor. Her bull figurehead gleamed in the shadow of the mountain as the sun set behind it. Thus heartened, Lykaon picked up his pace.

Alexios laughed beside him. “Isn't she beautiful? She more than makes up for her captain's ugly face.”

“I heard that, Commander!” boomed a voice from the bow, and then Lykaon was struggling a little to keep up with Alexios as a figure moved aft and vaulted the railings to land on the pier, coming to meet them.

“Barnabas!” the mercenary cried in reply, clasping the older man's arms. His scarred face was indeed ferociously ugly, and one eye was cloudy with cataracts and scar tissue.

“Eagle Bearer!” Barnabas embraced the younger man, slapping his back. “We've heard such tales! Three battles in three different demes! Ares must favor you, indeed!”

“Less the gods than my own hard work, old man,” said Alexios, unable to keep a grin off his face. “But meet my friend, Lykaon. He's coming with us to Athens. Lykaon, this is Barnabas, captain of the Adrestia and my faithful companion all these months.”

“A friend of Alexios is a friend of mine!” declared Barnabas. “Come, Lykaon, let me show you the Adrestia! Athens is an easy sail from here for the Adrestia, you should ask her for something hard!”

Lykaon followed Barnabas obediently, looking over his shoulder to catch a wink from Alexios as the mercenary brought up the rear.

By the time Barnabas had finished showing Lykaon the ship and escorted him to where Alexios waited at the stern, the mercenary had stowed everything but what he thought of as his essential weapons. Lykaon leaned on the rail next to him, looking over the deck, as Barnabas came up on his other side and asked, “What are your orders, Commander?”

He clapped Barnabas on the shoulder. “We'll anchor out in the bay for the night, for safety, and leave at dawn. How are the seas? Are Athens and Sparta keeping order, or are they too busy with each other?”

“You heard the Eagle Bearer! Oars out and take us to the middle of the bay for the night!” Barnabas bellowed at the crew before turning back to Alexios and saying at a more reasonable volume, “The great navies don't pay attention to anything but each other, and I'm sorry to tell you that most of the pirates have forgotten the fear the sight of the Adrestia struck into their hearts while you've been going soft on land.”

Alexios hesitated a moment, visibly torn, before saying reluctantly, “It might be better to stay out of fights. I'd like to get Lykaon safely to Athens.”

The scarred captain threw back his head and laughed uproariously, and loudly, making Lykaon wince. “Now I really have heard it all! The Eagle Bearer, who fights like Athena herself, avoiding a battle! You really have been going soft on land, Alexios.”

The mercenary slung an arm around Barnabas's neck, pretending to choke him. “I'll show you soft. I'll take first watch. Go get your rest, old man, so you can get us out of the bay in the morning.”

Barnabas batted Alexios away with the ease of long affection and made his way toward the hold, still chuckling. They heard him call out to another sailor, “Odessa! Did you hear that? Alexios wants us to avoid getting into fights!”

“What?” was the reply, “Has he gone soft?”

Alexios sighed and shook his head, smiling. “I'm afraid there might be barriers to my retirement, my heart.”

Lykaon smiled back, watching the breeze stir his hair and toy with the bright beads there. “I can see that. You must have had a few adventures with this crew.”

“More than a few. Did Barnabas show you sleeping quarters down below? Or since we're anchored for the night, you're welcome to sleep on deck. Most of the crew will.”

“I think I'll sleep out here. It was very...close quarters inside.”

Alexios leaned companionably on the rail next to him. “It's like a prison down there. I usually sleep up here, unless the seas are especially rough or the rain is very hard. Knowing Barnabas he sacrificed half a herd of goats to guarantee fine weather for this trip, though, so we'll hope it worked.”

They watched together as sailors moved about the deck, finding places to settle down for the evening. A man near the bow was playing a pandouris, the sweet sound carrying back to them. Lykaon sighed happily. “Thank you for this. I've always wanted to leave the Chora, but never quite had the courage.”

Alexios reached over to take his hand, twining their fingers together carefully. The leather of the wrappings he wore beneath the guards on his forearms was rough, but his fingers were warm and gentle. “No need to thank me. I'm happy to have you with me. I've been alone a long time.”

He leaned, carefully, on the mercenary's armored shoulder. “You don't have to be alone anymore. I'd prefer it if you weren't. It was lonely when you weren't there, Alexios.”

Reaching across with his other hand, Alexios turned Lykaon's face toward him and kissed him gently. “I'm sorry I left you alone so much. I should have listened to my own advice when we met. Revenge didn't heal the past. It didn't even heal the present.”

Lykaon squeezed his fingers. “And your doctor told you to hope. It's all right now, Alexiskos.”

He smiled, only a little sadly, and kissed Lykaon again, almost reverently. “I'll try not to disobey my doctor.”

Lykaon lowered his eyes. “Should we be doing this? In front of the crew?” A quick glance up found Alexios grinning.

“They've seen much worse. They're sailors, not virgin daughters of rich Athenians.”

The doctor blushed furiously. “I don't think I want you to explain further.”

Alexios kissed him one more time before letting him go. “Get some rest, my heart. I'll sleep beside you when the watch is over and I've woken Barnabas.”

Lykaon got a himation out of his small traveling bundle and wrapped himself in it. His chlamys and Alexios's were folded next to each other in the chest, and feeling a little foolish he took the other man's to use as a pillow, nestling his face against it and inhaling the smell of him. The Adrestia rocked gently at anchor as Alexios's measured tread made the rounds of the deck, his voice a low murmur as he spoke to the sailors on watch with him. Finally, sleep took Lykaon in its arms.

He woke when Alexios thumped down next to him on the deck with a jingle of armor and clatter of weaponry. Lykaon had always been envious of how quickly his lover could fall asleep, and tonight was no exception. Finally, he got up and went down to the deck to look out over the railing in the starlight. Barnabas was up at the bow, talking to an oarsman. A slight woman with a bow on her back arrived and leaned back against the railing next to him. “So, you're the reason hearts are breaking all over the Greek world.”

Lykaon looked over at her, startled. “I beg your pardon?”

“We all wondered why we were pulling into Kirrha or that damned middle of nowhere dock in Thermopylae every time Alexios had a day or two to spare. Men and women sighing after him in much better ports all across the Aegean but no, we had to pull into that shit hole Kirrha or this godsforsaken cove at Thermopylae with nothing to do.”

“I...I see.”

The woman grinned at him. “I'm Odessa. Joined the crew in Megaris, when Alexios was still wearing mismatched armor and a patched chitoniskos.”

“Lykaon Arkadiou, of Phokis. I'm pleased to meet you. You've been with the Adrestia a long time, then,” he retreated behind a pleasant social smile, swallowing the lump of jealousy in his throat.

She nodded. “Joined up hoping for adventure, after Alexios helped me out with some problems back home. He's more than delivered. It's much better than the life on my father's farm.”

“He helps a lot of people, doesn't he?”

“Usually for money, to be fair.”

Barnabas's voice interrupted them, brash and loud. “Odessa! You're supposed to be on watch, not enjoying yourself!”

Odessa rolled her eyes and pushed off the rail, sauntering away as Barnabas took her place, clapping Lykaon on the shoulder with an enthusiasm that rattled his teeth. “Well, lad? What do you think of the Adrestia?”

He smiled at the older man, charmed by his enthusiasm. “She's beautiful. I can't wait to sail in the morning.”

“Morning comes faster when you sleep, and Alexios has been trying to pretend he isn't awake since you got up. Go let him get some rest, go!”

Lykaon's face got hot as he blushed and turned toward the stern, Barnabas's chuckle following him. He settled in his place next to Alexios, who snaked out an arm and rested a hand on his hip, blinking sleepily at him. The doctor leaned forward just a little and kissed him softly, murmuring, “Sleep, my dear,” and Alexios's eyes closed again. Lykaon followed him into sleep soon after.

Morning broke bright and clear but with a bite to the wind and fluffy white tops to the wavelets in the bay that suggested the seas weren't as calm as the day before. Lykaon and Alexios ate breakfast with the sailors, a simple meal of unleavened bread on the verge of stale and briny olives with a little hard cheese. Lykaon began to understand why the mercenary was so delighted the first time he'd made teganites for breakfast and set out honey and soft, fresh cheese and walnuts to go with them. Then it was time to go, the oarsmen moving below decks to take their seats and the archers lining up on deck, with Barnabas's lieutenants lining up to pass orders along.

The doctor stood next to Alexios and the captain, hands clasped on the rail and leaning forward into the wind as they rowed smoothly out of the bay and swung into the straight between Euboea and Lokris. Once they were fairly into open water, Barnabas called out, the oars retracted, sailors swarmed, and the great sail, black and emblazoned with the head of a bull, lowered. Alexios laughed aloud. “You put my sail back on!”

“Well of course I did! We couldn't greet a demigod flying some anonymous sail! Let the pirates fear us again!”

Lykaon's eyebrows went up and he mouthed “Demigod?” at Alexios, who rolled his eyes and shook his head. Barnabas laughed and slapped the mercenary on the back.

“He'll deny it, but no mere human would carry Zeus's eagle and answer the prayers of mortals! He defeated two Minotaurs, the Cyclops, Medusa, and the Sphinx! And the entire Cult of Kosmos!”

Lykaon thought his eyebrows might be stuck somewhere in his hairline. “Two Minotaurs?”

Alexios rubbed the back of his neck. “It's, uh, a bit of a long story. Remind me to tell you in Athens. Barnabas, keep your eyes and your attention on the horizon.”

“Oh I don't need to, Commander. There’s a pirate behind that small island. You can see their lookout on top of the rock.”

The mercenary swore creatively. “No room to outrun them here, their lookout will have seen us already.” He yanked a spare shield off its storage on the railing and grabbed Lykaon by the upper arm with the other hand, steering him toward the bench behind them. “Sit here, on the deck. Cover yourself with this shield. Try not to catch on fire. I'll have us out of this as soon as I can.”

Lykaon's eyes grew wide and he grabbed for Alexios before the man could rush away. “Be careful.”

“I will. I always am.” A swift kiss and then it was only the warrior, face hard and weapons ready, who returned to the rail next to Barnabas, roaring orders for the sail to be tied up and the oars brought out. The archers readied themselves and, right on cue, a black-sailed ship slid out from behind the small island ahead off to their port side.

The Adrestia swung and sped, intent on catching their opponent with her ram. Arrows clattered off the deck and Lykaon's shield as the other ship sought to fend them off, then a bellowed call to “Brace!” was all the warning he had before the slam and grind of impact followed by an enormous splintering sound that seemed to fill the world. Alexios continued to call orders not far away, his voice pitched to carry as he chivvied the Adrestia's archers into launching volley after volley.

And then, finally, one last sickening swing as the mercenary called to his crew, “We'll board the bastards! On my leap!”

Lykaon moved, but too slowly to catch him and stop him before he jumped off the raised platform at the Adrestia's stern down to land among the crew. The doctor could only watch, heart in his throat and hands white-knuckled on the railing, as Alexios rushed to the side of the Adrestia and leapt, followed by his lieutenants and some of the boarding party, to the deck of the burning pirate ship.

A surprisingly gentle hand landed on his shoulder and Barnabas said, in a low voice, “He'll be fine, lad, and fight all the harder knowing he's keeping you safe.”

Lykaon managed a weak smile. “It's just one thing to know that he's out here, doing these things. It's another thing to see it happen. Why aren't the crew helping him more?”

“Ah. You've never seen him fight before, have you. They'd just get in his way, lad.”

He couldn't pry his eyes away from the flash of Alexios's broken spear through the smoke, the only thing that let him track his lover through what appeared to be mayhem. The man was a deadly, seemly reckless whirl through his opponents, his own crew occupying themselves keeping the few enemy sailors bright enough to try coming in behind him off his back. A choked sound escaped Lykaon as Alexios's feet went out from under him and the mercenary rolled desperately away from the swing of an axe, coming up to put his spear into the axeman's kidneys. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of bloodshed to Lykaon, the fight was over. The Adrestia's sailors grabbed what they could carry and threw it back to their ship, leaping back after it as Alexios stalked the deck.

“Give him a moment when he gets back,” Barnabas murmured. “Let his head clear. Sometimes the battle takes him.”

Lykaon nodded wordlessly, still watching, until finally the last of the Adrestia's crew was back on board and Alexios made the leap home himself from the canting deck of the sinking pirate ship. The rowers put out the oars and pushed them off from the hulk as he came aft, until finally he was coming up the stairs beside the doctor, who managed to pry his fingers from the railing and turn to grab for Alexios's hands. They spoke almost simultaneously.

“Are you unhurt?”

“I'm all right, my heart. None of the blood is mine. And you? You're not hurt?”

He nodded and Alexios freed a hand and slid it to the back of his neck, pulling his head down a little to kiss his forehead. “Good. I can only kill them once, and that wouldn't have been enough if they'd hurt you.” Lykaon leaned his forehead on Alexios's shoulder and put his hands on the sides of his waist, feeling the other man's arms come around him. “Shhhh, Lykaiskon, we're alive and unhurt to fight another day.”

The doctor said weakly, “I should look at your side. You've probably pulled it open again.”

Alexios cradled the back of his head. “It will be fine until we're safely in port in Piraeus tomorrow morning.”

Lykaon took a deep breath and lifted his head. Alexios leaned back just far enough to look at him. “I'm all right, I am. I was just worried for you.”

The mercenary smiled gently at him. “Never fear for me. Just ask Barnabas, I'm Ares incarnate and invincible in a fight.”

He managed a shaky laugh. “I'll try to remember.”

The sail down again, settled at the rail with Alexios on one side and Barnabas on the other, Lykaon eventually felt his shaking subside as he began to enjoy the sensation of being out to sea and carried by the wind and waves. After a little while, Barnabas nudged his shoulder and pointed off to one side. “There's the salt pits of Lokris! The Eagle Bearer fulfilled a prophecy there. It was a sad, sad story though, ending with a young man gouging his own eyes out on the beach.” He pointed to the land on the other side of the ship. “And that island is Euboea, where he defeated the evil Kingfisher and his band of thugs, slew the Hind of Keryneia, and assassinated a Cultist of Kosmos who called himself the Centaur.”

“Zeus's balls, Barnabas, are you going to tell him every story from every port we sail past?”

Lykaon nudged Alexios with his elbow. “Don't be impious, Alexiskos. And since I only heard one of those from you, I'm happy the Captain is telling them.”

Alexios rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, laughing ruefully. “I got myself into this. Barnabas, if you have time when you're not embarrassing me, I thought we might make Keos before dark.”

“Keos, Commander? If you're sure. Did you tell him about Keos?”

Lykaon looked expectantly at Alexios. “No, he hasn't told me about Keos.”

Looking out over the water, he said, “The north end, where we're pulling in, is a pirate refuge. Run by Xenia, who controls most of the black market in these waters. She helped me find my mother, and gave me refuge for a time. I helped her find shiny gold things, and rescued her brother after he'd managed to get himself stranded in the middle of nowhere.”

The doctor blinked. “We're pulling into a pirate port?”

Alexios shrugged. “Safer than trying to sail through the night if the pirates are out. My friendship with Xenia doesn't get us immunity from the ships that pay her tribute, unfortunately.”

“What would you do if I weren't here?”

Barnabas laughed. “We'd sail through the night and send any bastard who tried us down to the bottom!” Alexios shot him a look that could have killed him on the spot.

Lykaon nodded. “We should do that, then. I don't want you thinking you have to change everything because of me.”

Turning toward him, Alexios slid an arm around his waist. “And I don't want you getting hurt.” The mercenary glanced over Lykaon's head at Barnabas, who was still chuckling, and lowered his voice to an intimate murmur. “It would gut me if you were harmed, Lykaiskon. I won't let you be hurt.”

He reached up to take Alexios's face gently in his hands. “I know, my dear. But I believe that you and the Adrestia can keep me safe, and besides, I'm not fragile. If we keep going, we can make Athens early and get settled in and rest on dry land before you show me the city.”

For a long moment Alexios studied his face, as if committing it to memory or searching for something, before finally nodding. “All right. We'll sail through the night. Of course, this means ship food for dinner instead of a reasonable meal in Keos.”

Laughing, Lykaon kissed him lightly. “Ah, there's the problem. We'll live, and get to the city all the sooner.”

The arm around his waist tightened for a moment, then released him before being pressed against armor could go from uncomfortable to painful. “On your head be it. Stale bread and dry cheese and whatever swill Barnabas was convinced to buy by some fraud of a wine merchant.”

The captain made an outraged noise. “That was the one time, and how was I to know that someone I'd known for years would decide to cheat me!”

The Adrestia sailed on as the sun sank toward the land on their right.

ATHENS

Piraeus was a busy port, even with the sun barely up over the horizon. Sailors and merchants crowded the docks, and when they finally made it off the docks and onto the road leading to Athens, it too was crowded with merchants and their customers, plus the tents of refugees from the countryside settled there to be safe from Spartan attack. Lykaon was distracted in the first few moments by a papyrus vendor, then by an apothecary with a selection of herbs and preparations, and it wasn't until after he had spoken at length with a man selling copies of scrolls from a variety of sources that he noticed it was Barnabas next to him and not Alexios.

They found the mercenary a little way down the road, surprisingly inconspicuous in older, much repaired and very minimal leather armor he'd changed into before they left the Adrestia, explaining that looking too prosperous in the city made him itch like he had a target painted on him. He had a new bag slung on his back and was haggling for warm bread stuffed with slices of lamb. Turning as he heard their footsteps, he handed food to each of them. “To fortify us after the miserable diet on the ship.”

A few steps later, he paused to buy a small pot of figs in honey, which he tucked almost reverently into the pouch at his belt. His final stop was for a handful of small fried treats made from flour and honey, fried crisp. He offered one to Lykaon, who smiled and shook his head. “No thank you, I don't have quite your sweet tooth, my dear.”

Not long after that they were through the gates and headed into Athens proper. Barnabas shook his head. “This is a terrible way to bring someone in for the first time, Alexios. First the heights obscure the Acropolis from the sea, and then the port and Athens itself does.”

“Faster and safer, though,” replied the mercenary, dusting off his hands. “You can see the Acropolis fine from Perikles's house. Did you send word ahead?”

“I sent off a messenger as soon as the Adrestia was in reach of the pier. They'll know we're coming.”

Alexios nodded absently, his eyes on the streets as he wove through the crowds of Athens. Lykaon could barely restrain his joy and felt like a schoolboy escaped from a harsh tutor, off to have illicit adventures. Even the cries of the vegetable sellers in the neighborhoods they passed through were a delight.

After a trip that was simultaneously long and much too short, they arrived at a gate in a high wall with a pair of guards in Athenian army uniforms standing at the sides. Alexios nodded to them and passed through, Lykaon next to him and Barnabas on their heels, and then Lykaon stopped dead when he saw the size of the house they had arrived at. “We're staying _here_?”

Alexios grinned at him. “Perikles's son has been gracious to give us use of the house for as long as we might wish. I think he's just worried about what we can tell people about his mother. Come inside, we'll evict anyone squatting in the upstairs rooms.”

But there was no need for evictions. As they stepped inside, a servant intercepted them to greet Alexios and tell him the upstairs rooms had been prepared. Barnabas headed toward the inner courtyard where they could hear voices as the servant led them through graciously appointed halls with expensive carpets hushing their steps, up a set of stairs, and bowed them out onto the roof.

“Don't look yet,” Alexios instructed Lykaon, leading him to another door. “Eyes on your feet.”

Laughing but obedient, Lykaon followed with his eyes on the ground. The door opened onto a large room with a bed, low table, and couches. Alexios slung his bag on the bed, set down the pouch containing the pot of honeyed figs more carefully, and then led him up one more set of stairs onto a covered balcony, stepping aside. Lykaon froze, eyes going wide, to see the bright colors of the Parthenon and the sun reflecting off the gold and ivory statue of Athena. “By all the gods, Alexios, look at it! It's more beautiful than I'd heard!”

Alexios came to stand behind him, sliding arms around his waist and resting his chin on Lykaon's shoulder. “I can't wait for you to see it, especially the temple. After we can go to the agora and throw rotten fruit at philosophers.”

The doctor laughed, leaning back comfortably into the other man's strength. “I hardly know where to go first. There's so much I've wished to see.”

“You have plenty of time. I have nowhere to be but with you.”

Lykaon twisted in Alexios's arms until they were facing, and said in a low voice, “And there's an enormous bed down there.”

“There is.”

“You should be in it. And not wearing this chiton.”

The mercenary flushed a little, tilting his head to kiss Lykaon lingeringly. “In such a hurry?”

“Yes. You need your side looked at, to make sure you didn't do something horrible to it.”

He groaned, letting his head fall back. Lykaon kissed his throat affectionately and stepped back. “Go on. I'm right behind you.”

Alexios stretched, languid, on the bed and let Lykaon fuss over him. The wound in his side didn't trouble him much, and he hadn't acquired many new bruises at sea, but the fussing made Lykaon happy and the doctor's hands were warm and kind. It was relaxing, in its way, minus the odd twinge as Lykaon examined him.

“You did reopen it a little. It's mostly healed behind, if you can't stay out of trouble I'll have to ask Hippokrates about sewing the front of it shut to give it a chance to close up.”

He smiled and sat up, patting the bed beside him. “Lykaiskon, one more scar won't matter, and it's not going to kill me. You worry too much.”

The doctor sat, leaning into him. “Let me worry over you a little. Someone has to, you're clearly not going to take care to keep yourself in one piece.”

They rested there a moment before they were interrupted by a knock at the door. Alexios muttered an oath and called, “Coming!” as he wrapped his chiton around himself and belted it, not bothering to fasten the material at the shoulders.

Hippokrates was on the other side of the door. Lykaon stood to greet him, a smile of genuine pleasure on his face. “It's good to see you again.”

“Indeed, I'm glad you made it safely to Athens,” the older physician said, coming in to seat himself on one of the couches. “I apologize for intruding, but I wanted to greet the two of you. Alexios, I see you've managed to aggravate the wound in your side.”

Alexios rolled his eyes, sitting next to Lykaon on the other couch. “I've already been lectured, you can spare me.”

Hippokrates refused to be needled. “It's good you have someone to look after you. You should know, by the way, that while Alkibiades is no longer in residence he apparently has planned a symposium in the house this evening to welcome you to Athens.” He held up a hand to forestall Alexios's muttered stream of profanity while Lykaon's eyebrows rose. “There are friendly names on the guest list, and of course Sokrates and Aristophanes and I will be here.”

“Perhaps I'll wear this.”

“Lykaon, I'm charging you with getting him dressed in something mildly respectable.”

Lykaon laughed. “I'll do my best. Getting him to wear something fit for a symposium in Athens might be a challenge, though.”

“Your best is all we ask. Come downstairs when you have a moment and I'll introduce you to Aristophanes.”

The bald physician made his way out, and Lykaon stood. “Come, my dear, introduce me to the playwright. And then we'd better find the agora, we packed so lightly I'd like to look for more appropriate clothing.”

He stood and took Lykaon's hand. “One thing, at least, I might be able to fix. Even if I can't stop Alkibiades from throwing his ridiculous parties.” He led Lykaon to the bed and sat down, snagging his bag from the floor and opening it. With a small flourish, he produced a folded length of cloth, deep blue with a border patterned in madder red. Before the doctor could recover from his surprise, he brought out a longer length, plain but entirely deep red from madder dye. He smiled with satisfaction. “Some of us were thinking ahead while others were distracted by bookshops.”

Lykaon shook them out, blue chiton and red himation, and rubbed the finely woven linen between his fingers. “They're beautiful, love, thank you.”

Alexios smiled. “Oh, I'm not done.” Reaching into the bag once more, he brought out a linen-wrapped package and unwrapped a circlet and armband, gleaming softly in gold.

The doctor blinked. “This is too much, Alexiskos, I don't know what to say.”

The mercenary stood and snaked an arm around his waist, pulling their bodies flush. “I told you I'd appease your vanity,” he said, tilting his head to kiss Lykaon. “I won't have you feeling plain at one of these ridiculous gatherings.”

He wound his arms around Alexios's shoulders, laughing. “I'm overwhelmed by your enthusiasm. Humor me for the one evening, darling man.”

Easing backward, Alexios made a disgruntled noise near his ear, nuzzling at his neck. “Only for you. And so I can show you off to all the best of Athenian society.”

“Mmm. So I'm to be paraded like a captive bride, then?”

That got him a laugh, and then they were falling as Alexios deliberately flopped backwards onto the bed, dragging Lykaon down on top of him. “More like you're there to keep the uncivilized Spartan mercenary on a leash,” the uncivilized Spartan in question grinned up at him.

Lykaon shook his head and kissed Alexios thoughtfully. “What are _you_ wearing, though? You can't seriously be planning to attend a symposium in these frayed, undyed things you wander around in normally.”

Running his hands up Lykaon's back, Alexios sighed. “I'll find something so I don't embarrass you. But if we skip the trip to the agora, we have hours to waste.”

“Except they're expecting us downstairs,” the doctor replied regretfully, running fingertips over his lover's neck and shoulder muscles and raising goosebumps. Muttering something that was probably profane, Alexios tilted his head to the side in invitation, offering more of his skin. Lykaon leaned down and kissed his collar bone. “Come along, Alexiskos. Introduce me to your friends, and be a polite social creature for once.” He rolled off the mercenary and to his feet, smiling serenely.

Still muttering, Alexios got to his feet. “You'll be the death of me, I swear.”

“A far gentler death than the one you usually court, at least. But I don't think anyone has ever died of having to delay satisfaction of their lust long enough to be polite.”

“There's a first time for everything.” Alexios picked his fibulae up from a small table and pinned up the shoulders of his chiton, heading for the door with Lykaon beside him. “They'll be in the library.”

Following the sound of voices brought them to a medium-sized room lined with shelves that were filled with scrolls. Around the central table stood several men, two of whom Lykaon didn't know. One of the strangers, an older man with gray hair, looked up, his face brightening when they came through the door.

“Herodotos!” Alexios met the man with an embrace, then clasped his shoulders. “I wondered where you were when you weren't here to greet us. Hippokrates, you sly fox, you didn't tell me he was here. Come, Herodotos, this is my close friend Lykaon Arkadiou of Phokis. Lykaon, this is Herodotos Lyxous, of Halikarnassos.”

Lykaon clasped the historian's offered hand. “I've heard so much about you, sir.”

Herodotos smiled, wrinkles fanning out from the corners of his eyes. “Sadly we heard rather little about you, although I believe the mystery of the Adrestia's frequent visits to Kirrha may now be explained. And here Barnabas had hoped our Alexios was merely becoming extremely pious.”

The other stranger, a lanky younger man with curly hair, arrived beside Herodotos and reached to clasp Lykaon's hand as well. “I'm Aristophanes Philippou, of Kydathenaion. A playwright and poet.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Lykaon replied, as Alexios drifted from his side to pour himself a cup of wine at the table and greet Barnabas and Sokrates. “Will the two of you be attending this evening?”

Aristophanes laughed. “We wouldn't miss it. Herodotos will be there to make sure Alexios doesn't start any fights, and I'll be there hoping he fails. These things are so much less interesting when you don't have a Spartan attending to scoff at us all.”

Herodotos took Lykaon companionably by the arm and led them to the table, saying, “I haven't failed yet, and since I rather suspect this young man is on my side I can hardly expect to fail tonight.”

Barnabas sucked air between his teeth thoughtfully. “I've got a drachma that says he throws a punch at Alkibiades before the night is out.”

Alexios crossed his arms on his chest. “I'm right here.”

Lykaon moved to stand next to him, shoulders just barely touching. “They have so little faith in your self-control,” he said. “My poor, untrusted Alexios.”

“Do the two of you have plans for this afternoon?” Herodotos asked solicitously, to cut off whatever reply Alexios was about to make.

The mercenary shrugged, his arms tightening a little. “Nothing firm. I thought I might go to Kerameikos and leave an offering to Phoibe, but it doesn't have to be today.”

Lykaon shifted his weight to lean lightly on Alexios's shoulder, raising a hand to rest it between his shoulder blades. The muscles under his fingers were hard with tension. “I don't mind going with you if you want to go today,” he said.

Eyes dark, Alexios looked over at him as if he were the only other person in the room, and said softly, “I'd like that.”

“Well, that's settled then,” said Sokrates, a touch too heartily. “We'll let the two of you head off, as long as you promise to be back for the symposium.”

“Oh and do see me when you get back, Alexios,” added Herodotos. “I've some news that might interest you.”

Alexios nodded and turned toward the door, Lykaon staying right beside him.

“Don't let him get arrested!” someone called behind them.

 

The walk to Kerameikos took them across the city, past the foot of the Akropolis and through the agora. Alexios stopped for a packet of small cakes that he tucked into his belt pouch, promising Lykaon they'd stop for a longer visit on the way back. Another few minutes walk took them into the cemetery, and he went unerringly to a beautifully carved and painted stele depicting a small girl with an eagle. A short verse along the base declared to the world that here lay Phoibe, beloved little sister of the Eagle-Bearer.

Alexios bowed his head, closing his eyes as he laid a hand on top of the monument. Lykaon stood close, an arm around his shoulders. They remained that way in silence for some minutes, the mercenary's breath shallow and hitching. Finally he released the stele and turned, resting his forehead on Lykaon's shoulder. He held Alexios tightly, murmuring softly, “It's all right, my dear. You're not alone, I'm here.” But it seemed a long time before Alexios could pick his head up and leave the small cakes as an offering at the base of the stele, along with one of Ikaros's primary feathers. He scrubbed at his eyes with the heel of one hand, and with a small, crooked smile Lykaon offered him the corner of his himation.

“These things do have their uses, you know.”

Alexios managed the ghost of a laugh. “I'll keep it in mind. Thank you for coming with me, Lykaiskon, my heart. I haven't been back except once since Sokrates and Hippokrates buried her.”

Lykaon nodded, taking Alexios's hand as they made their way back toward the agora. “I remember you arrived at my house in the middle of a storm not long afterward.”

“I didn't know where else to go.”

The doctor squeezed his hand. “It wasn’t a complaint.”

It seemed to take no time at all before they arrived back at the agora, Alexios shaking himself like a dog and taking a deep breath before they pushed into the busy marketplace. Lykaon insisted on stopping at a cloth merchant's stall, critically appraising the lengths of fabric before selecting a chiton in green with blue wave patterns on the selvages for Alexios. The mercenary retaliated by buying him a necklace and fibulae in gold to match the circlet and arm bad waiting at home. Lykaon's exasperated look was met with exaggerated innocence. “What? I command outrageous fees. I live on a boat. I own all the armor and weapons I need to supply myself into the next life.”

“Fine, fine.”

Tucking the jewelry into his belt, Alexios snagged his hand, twining their fingers together. “You know your vanity won't let you turn me down, anyway.”

Lykaon laughed. “You know me too well.”

Returning to the house, they found it abuzz with last-minute preparations. Alexios eyed it all both wearily and warily, leading Lykaon up the stairs. He came to a halt in the doorway, so suddenly that the doctor put a hand on his back to keep from running into him. Lykaon couldn't see his face, but his voice was tight and cold when he said, “Alkibiades.”

“Well, well,” said a voice in the louche accent of an upper class Athenian who'd had a few drinks already. “They said you were out, they didn't say you were out getting company, Alexios.”

The mercenary took a step to the side, revealing a blond man in a himation draped with careless artfulness advancing on them. “Lykaon Arkadiou of Phokis, Alkibiades Kleiniou of Skambonidae.”

Alkibiades looked Lykaon over in a frank manner. “They do grow them nicely in the provinces, don't they, Alexios. No wonder you haven't been back to Athens.”

Alexios took a half step forward, crowding the blond man's personal space. “What did you want, Alkibiades?”

“Your body, as usual. And I've a little...business proposition.”

The larger man shook his head, crossing his arms on his chest. “My services aren't on offer. In any capacity.” Lykaon could see his right hand fist where it was tucked under his left elbow and hesitated, wanting to intervene but not sure how. Alexios's body was rapidly becoming a coil of tension.

“Don't tell me you've retired and gone all serious on me like Sokrates. We used to have such fun!”

“And now we don't. Those times are over, Alkibiades. And now that you know that, you can leave.”

“You wound me, Alexios! I thought we could greet each other properly, you could listen to the little favor I need, it would be just like old times.”

“Go find your wife if that's the kind of greeting you're looking for. You won't find it here.” Alexios pivoted just enough to give Alkibiades room to get by. The younger man swept past, slamming the door behind him.

Lykaon looked over at Alexios with raised eyebrows. The mercenary shook his head, took a deep breath, and let his arms fall, muttering, “That metrokoites” under his breath.

“So that was Alkibiades.”

“That was Alkibiades.”

“And you're...retired now?”

Alexios raised a hand to rub the back of his neck. “Lykaon, these Athenians... I killed Kleon. They've watched me bring down demes and leaders all over Hellas.” He paused, taking a breath, and came over to rest his hands gently on Lykaon's shoulders. “They watched me nearly bring down Athens. If they think I'm a threat, they will want a way to stop me being one. They'll see you as a weapon to be used against me, and that will mean you're in danger. If something happens to you, I will tear their city down and burn it for your funeral pyre and throw myself onto it.”

Lykaon nodded, reaching out to gather Alexios into his arms. “I understand, my love. I don't want either of us in danger.”

Alexios slowly relaxed into his embrace, resting his forehead against the doctor's. “I couldn't bear it if something happened to you because of me. I already failed Phoibe. I can't fail you, too.”

Rubbing his back, Lykaon said gently, “You didn't fail Phoibe, and nothing is going to happen to me. We're going to have a lovely evening, and tomorrow you can show me the Akropolis and the Pnyx and anywhere else I should see. Then we can think about going somewhere else, whether it's back to Phokis or to the Asklepion in Argolis, or anywhere the Adrestia can take us.”

Alexios closed his eyes, murmuring, “I believe you about everything except the lovely evening. I just worry, Lykaiskon. This isn’t my world, and it’s full of dangers.”

“I know you do. I'll try not to worry you more than necessary. In the meantime, we should get cleaned up for the symposium.”

“Did I ever tell you that Perikles used to avoid his own symposiums? He'd hide up here in these very rooms.”

Lykaon laughed. “You, my dear, are not Perikles. How am I to make a splash in Athens society if I don't have a wild Spartan on my arm?”

Alexios kissed him, softly but insistently, lingering until they were both breathing a little faster. “By being charming, educated, and immaculately dressed.”

“Flatterer. But you can't deny me the chance to be known as the man who can keep the uncivilized Spartan on a leash.”

“Only for you,” Alexios murmured against his lips, finally letting him go and stepping back.

Lykaon insisted on combing out Alexios's hair before putting the braids and beads back in, leading to more grumbling. He found fibulae of his own, decorated with discs that looked like a shield, to pin the mercenary's chiton at the shoulders, and a belt woven in a blue and white wave pattern before declaring himself satisfied.

“You're sure I can't talk you into wearing a himation?”

“And be unable to use my left arm all evening? What if I need to stab someone?”

“You’re not going to be able to stab anyone anyway, since you’re not taking any weapons downstairs.”

Catching his his hand and kissing the palm, Alexios murmured against the skin, “You'll be the death of me.”

Lykaon reached up with the other hand and touched his cheek. “Never. One evening looking fashionable and making polite conversation never killed anyone.”

“There's a first time for everything.”

 

By the time Alexios stopped being an obstruction and they descended to the party, the inner courtyard was crowded with guests, banquet tables, and the musicians. They made a slow circuit of the room, Alexios introducing Lykaon to those he knew. They'd almost made it to Herodotos when suddenly the mercenary froze. “Ma Apollo Karneios, that metrokoites Alkibiades has invited Nikias. Is he trying to start a civil war?”

“Who's Nikias?”

“If you remember, Hippokrates mentioned him. He believes that democracy has been a failure, and that the nobility should rule Athens again. Many people oppose him. To see him in Perikles's house...”

Lykaon nodded, sipping from his wine cup. “It seems to be a deliberate insult.”

“It's either that or Alkibiades trying to be funny.”

At that moment Herodotos spotted them and made his way over with a smile. “Gentlemen! Lykaon, you've not only gotten him dressed appropriately, but gotten him downstairs in a reasonably prompt fashion. I'm very impressed.”

“It took some bribery,” Lykaon replied with a laugh, “but it was worth it. Although I think he was right about avoiding the philosophers in their corner. Sokrates seems to be driving people to outraged yelling already.”

“Oh, well, that happens whenever someone tries to talk to Sokrates,” the older man said, waving a hand dismissively. “We just ignore it now. Alexios, I have some intriguing news for you, by the way.”

The mercenary paused, about to drain his cup of wine. “Oh?”

“Yes, I was in the agora two days ago, and word had come in that there's some beast haunting Andros.”

Alexios drained the cup of wine and handed it to a passing servant. “Why was anyone even on the island?”

“I didn't ask. But what's most interesting is that the ship's captain I was speaking to said that it was one of the cyclopes. I thought perhaps since you already defeated Brontes the Thunderer, that if it's true, it must be Steropes of the Lightning, or perhaps Arges.”

Lykaon watched uneasily as Alexios's eyes lit. “Oh no, no, no. If such a thing exists there is no reason for you to go and fight it, my dear.”

The mercenary grinned. “Oh Brontes definitely existed. I can show you a scar I got from a stalactite that fell from the roof of his cave. If this is one of his brothers... Do you think it relates to the cavern there, Herodotos?”

The historian shrugged. “You know far more of the cavern on Andros than I do. But if you're going to go look into it, I'd like to come along.”

Lykaon cleared his throat and Alexios started and glanced at him guiltily. “I'll, ah, need to discuss it with Lykaon before I make plans to go and investigate. But if I do go, I won't leave without you, old friend.”

Herodotos nodded. “And now, you might wish to move on quickly. I see Alkibiades and his wife headed this way. I'll distract them while you escape.”

They quickly moved on, Lykaon turning to Alexios to hiss, “You do not need to fight legendary monsters. If they even exist.”

“Well, not need, no, but it might be fun. And I could show you wonders such as you've never seen, my heart.”

“I don't need to see wonders at the cost of you being killed!”

“Ah, Euripides! How is the theater business?”

Lykaon shot Alexios a dirty look at the well-timed interruption and put his social smile back on to be introduced to the playwright.

It was a long night. Lykaon wasn't accustomed to staying up until dawn, and Alexios didn't usually do it unless the situation involved stabbing someone. He might have dragged Lykaon upstairs long before, but Herodotos's news lay uneasily between them, and he wasn't particularly anxious to have the discussion he knew was coming. Trying to maintain conversations while simultaneously avoiding Alkibiades, Nikias, and Sokrates kept them occupied, but eventually guests were filtering out or falling asleep on couches, and there was nothing left but to retire to the rooms upstairs.

Alexios began shedding the chiton on the balcony, drawing a laugh from the other man. “You'd looked civilized for too long, I take it?”

“New clothes are always stiff and itchy. I feel naked without a weapon anyway, I might as well be naked.”

Lykaon snorted, unwinding his himation and folding it and setting it aside before picking up the green chiton and folding that neatly, too. “Either your sword or nudity would certainly have gotten you some attention in that crowd.”

“I really think I deserve some sort of reward for being civilized and sociable all evening.”

“Fine, I won't smother you in your sleep for even considering going after whatever beast Herodotos was talking about.”

Alexios sighed and turned away. “Lykaiskon...”

The doctor shook his head. “I can't believe you'd even think about it. Whatever it is, it's dangerous, Alexios.”

The mercenary crossed his arms, the muscles in his back taut and outlined with tension. “I've fought the same or worse before, and I'm still standing here. Have a little faith in me.”

“I have plenty of faith in you! But I have none in the Fates. These creatures you fight only have to be lucky once, but you have to keep on being lucky, every time you go into battle. I won't lose you, Alexiskos.”

He turned at that, uncrossing his arms and making an open-handed gesture. “You're not going to! It's one fight, with one opponent. I'm good at this, my heart. There's no one better. What if someone else lands there and gets themselves killed? Someone's husband or son or brother?”

Lykaon wrapped his arms tightly around himself. “You say that like my heart didn't die a little every time I sent you out, knowing this time you might not come back, but letting you go anyway. You say that like you aren't the breath in my lungs and the blood in my veins.”

Alexios flinched and came nearer, arms open in an offer that Lykaon gratefully accepted, resting against his chest in the circle of his arms. He said softly, “Lykaiskon, I'm sorry. I don't mean to hurt you so.” His callous-roughened thumbs rubbed gentle circles on Lykaon's back. “I just...you're a healer. That's how you make the world better. This is how I do it. So that healers and children and historians don't get eaten.”

The doctor rested his head on Alexios's shoulder, burying his face against his neck. “You don't have to do it. You've done enough, my dear, I don't know how to make you believe that.”

“Shhhh,” Alexios stroked his hair. “Come to bed, Lykaiskon, we're both tired. Everything will look clearer after some sleep and some reasonable food.”

Lykaon sighed. “There you are being the practical, reasonable one again. Surely this portends some terrible occurrence.”

“Sleep. It portends sleep.” He backed them both toward the bed, step by step, then carefully eased them both down onto it. He quietly got Lykaon out of his chiton and folded it, setting it aside, then curled his body around the other man's, and wrapped his arms snugly around him. “I'm not going anywhere without you, my heart,” he murmured. “What is it you always tell me? I'm here, you're safe. I've got you. Sleep now.”

Lykaon nestled back against him, breathing evening out slowly as the tension bled out of his body. But it was a long time before either one of them slept.

 

When Alexios woke, the other side of the bed was empty and cold and it seemed his heart stopped and emptiness yawned in his chest, threatening to swallow him. He grabbed for his soft and comfortable elderly chiton and belted it around his waist on the way out the door, not bothering to fasten it at his shoulders. When he hit the bottom of the stairs, he heard voices, and then Lykaon's laugh, and his knees went weak. He slid down the wall to sit on the lowest stair, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, breathing and waiting for the panic to recede. A pass of his hand across his face reminded him to shave before he actually grew a full beard and he contemplated going back upstairs for it. His stomach convinced him that was a bad idea. Taking a deep breath, he stood and managed to saunter into the courtyard.

“There you are!” Lykaon's smile filled the empty place that had threatened to swallow him. Not caring about the others in the room, Alexios slid an arm around his waist and kissed him soundly.

“Good morning.” There was a general coughing and shuffling and Lykaon blushed. Alexios helped himself to cheese and bread and a cup of wine one-handed. “Gentlemen.”

With the air of someone who had been subject to the mercenary's lack of shame over the better part of a year, Herodotos said, “We've just been talking about places to see in Athens, Alexios. I understand you're planning to throw things at philosophers?”

Alexios looked bland. “It's better than trying to listen to them.”

Lykaon elbowed him in the side as Sokrates sputtered. Herodotos carefully maintained a straight face. “Yes, well, there’s been more soldiers at the agora lately, so be careful. Alkibiades and Nikias have been dominating the Pnyx lately, so you can always stop by there as well.”

The mercenary brightened. “Oh? Throwing rotten fruit at Alkibiades might be even better.” Lykaon gave up on propriety and leaned into his side, laughing. Alexios turned a genuine smile on him, arm tightening around his waist. “How's your aim, healer? Should I teach you to throw before we go?”

“I had wicked aim when I was a boy, but I don't think I've thrown anything since stones at the birds in Delphi.”

Barnabas grinned. “I've still got two drachmae says we have to get Alexios out of legal trouble before the Adrestia pulls out, so by all means, throw anything you want at the politicians. Since you lost me a drachma last night keeping him away from Alkibiades.”

Lykaon raised his eyebrows. “Really? Someone took that bet?”

Herodotos coughed and busied himself spreading cheese on another slice of bread.

Sokrates sighed. “That a young man so beautiful on the outside manages to irritate everyone whenever he opens his mouth merely proves my assertion that inner beauty is the true virtue for which we should strive.”

Alexios shook his head. “I've heard you're a great appreciator of outer beauty as well, Sokrates. At any rate, where shall we start, Lykaon? The Akropolis? The Pnyx? The agora? One of the other temples?”

The healer glanced at him sideways. “I thought perhaps today might be dedicated to recovering from the night's excesses. Tomorrow will be soon enough. Then we could start with the Akropolis, and from that vantage point choose where to go next.”

Barnabas slapped Alexios on the shoulder. “He's a tactical one. Keep him. Lykaon, lad, make Alexios tell you about the time he crept onto the Akropolis under cover of darkness hunting Kleon.”

Alexios rolled his eyes. “He doesn't want to hear these stories, Barnabas.”

“No, I really do.”

“Did he tell you about the time he climbed the--”

“Barnabas.”

“All right, all right.”

“Climbed the what?” Lykaon asked alertly.

“The Logismos. I was tampering with an ostracism vote for Perikles,” responded Alexios a little too promptly. At the looks of astonishment from everyone he said, “What? You all knew he was pragmatic.”

“Yes, but Anaxagoras was ostracized!” said Herodotos.

Alexios shrugged. “That was what Perikles wanted.”

Sokrates eyed the mercenary sharply. “Why did you never tell me you did it on Perikles's orders?”

“Go to the crows, it wasn't any of your business who hired me unless you were paying more than he was.”

The philosopher opened his mouth as if to say something, then shut it again. Barnabas laughed, slapping his knee. “Never thought I'd see the day Sokrates was stricken speechless!”

Sokrates shook his head. “I merely forget sometimes exactly how mercenary you are.”

Alexios shrugged again and drained his cup. “I stay bought, philosopher. That’s what separates me from a common thug. And now, having been given my orders for the day, I think I'll see if I can bribe a servant to carry food upstairs and retire before Barnabas can give all of my secrets away. Will you come with me, Lykaon?”

The doctor laughed softly. “I think I will. I don't know how Athenians do these things night after night. Although the thought of staying down here and getting Barnabas to embarrass you is tempting.”

Barnabas waved his hands in a shooing gesture. “Go, go! There will be plenty of time on the Adrestia for stories.”

Alexios paused on his way to the kitchen. “I am suddenly overwhelmed with an urge to travel on land.”

 

The next morning, however, brought a change in plans. Hippokrates received an urgent summons from a colleague and invited Lykaon along; Alexios assured him that he didn’t mind and accepted an invitation to go hunting from a few of the younger men who had attended the symposium. A day outside the city on horseback would clear his head, and with any luck he’d have dinner to show for it. He was feeling extremely self-satisfied if filthy with blood and mud when he made his way back to the house in the clear of evening with a haunch of goat slung over his shoulder.

The tension in the house prickled his skin as soon as he entered, nearly making the hair on his arms stand up. A servant relieved him of the meat as he arrowed toward the quiet voices in the library. There he found Barnabas, Sokrates, Aristophanes, and a bruised and battered Hippokrates, but no Lykaon. The men stared at him, frozen, as something terrible rose up inside him. “What’s going on,” he demanded, his voice low and hard-edged.

“It was a trap,” Hippokrates said. “I only just managed to get away. They were waiting for us.”

Howling emptiness yawned in Alexios’s chest, clawing at his throat. “Who,” he choked out.

“We don’t know yet,” said Sokrates, his voice strangely gentle. “We’ve had no word.”

A tap at the open door just then made everyone but Alexios jump. He only turned, eyes hard, and gestured to the servant holding a piece of papyrus. “Come.”

“This was left for you, sir,” the woman said, handing it to him, and bowed her way out of the room, anxious to be out of the air of coiled, waiting violence in the room.

The mercenary scanned the brief note then threw it on the table, striding rapidly out of the room and towards the stairs. It read only, “Akropolis, statue of Athena. Come alone.”

 

Armor first, hands fastening it all automatically until it was a second skin holding him together when he wanted to shatter. Weapons next, each secured carefully where it came to his reach easily but wouldn’t get in his way when not wanted. Looking for a bit of extra padding for the wound on his ribs, Alexios turned up the strip of light blue cloth Lykaon usually wore for an arm band. Silently, without screaming, his knees not giving way, he tucked it carefully inside his cuirass so it rode over his heart. He was surprised to feel a pulse there. His chest felt gaping, empty, ripped open and hollowed out.

He was going to find whoever had done this, and he was going to destroy everything they ever loved. While they watched. And then he was going to maim them, carefully, so carefully. He wouldn’t let them die. He would make them live empty and alone like this if they had harmed one hair on Lykaon’s head. If they had so much as frightened him.

Barnabas met him at the door. “I’ve summoned some of the crew, Eagle Bearer.”

“No. The letter said alone. I’m going alone.” And he was out the door and into the darkening streets, gliding from shadow to shadow towards the cliff of the Akropolis. The road up beckoned, but any watchers would have their eyes on the road. They were probably also keeping watch on the southern cliff face. He circled around to the deeply shadowed northern face and began to climb a steep outcropping leading toward the temple. The rhythm of hauling himself up and up and up, fighting gravity, provided a brief escape into mindless focus. Too soon he was on the plateau, slipping into the bushes and then behind a low wall, listening intently. He heard voices, low and farther back, debated killing them, decided to wait. There would be time for killing after he knew where Lykaon was.

A figure stood near the flame in front of the goddess, metal gleaming on its torso and limbs. Army, then. One of the hoplitai. Bandits and thugs would have known to wear leather, or dull the armor, or couldn’t have afforded it in the first place. No helm. Alexios drifted closer, shadow to shadow, then straightened and stepped into the light and tapped the man on the shoulder. The general Demosthenes turned to him. “Ah, mercenary. It’s been quite some time.”

Alexios crossed his arms on his chest. “What do you want, general.”

The man smiled easily. “Boiotia. The Spartans can keep that shit hole Megaris. But Boiotia was an embarrassment, mercenary, and I want it back.”

“Why are you telling me this? I’m retired.”

“I’d heard. That’s why I thought you might take a little bit of convincing.” The general reached into a pouch at his belt and pulled out a piece of cloth, cut from the border of a dark blue himation. A little blood spattered the corner. Alexios stared at it, feeling the air sucked from his lungs. He didn’t shatter. He didn’t make a sound.

“I want to see him.”

“And I want Boiotia. When I have what I want, you’ll get what you want, mercenary. Not before.”

“How do I know he’s alive?”

Demosthenes turned away. “Have a little faith, mercenary. You’re going to have to. Now go, you have work to do.”

Alexios snarled impotent frustration. “Take him a message from me.”

The general turned back. “Very well. What shall I say?”

The mercenary’s fist lashed out, rocking Demosthene’s head back. “As if I trust you to carry my words.”

Demosthenes shook his head to clear it, but Alexios had melted away into darkness.

 

Lykaon paced the confines of the room once more. It was not uncomfortable, but it was nerve-wracking. A pallet with a straw mattress, a table, a chair. Practically Spartan in its austerity, he thought to himself. The cut on his cheekbone had long since stopped bleeding, although his face was tender and a little swollen on that side. Unable to focus on more serious worries, he found himself mourning the chunk of his himation his captors had cut from him. Confusingly, they seemed to be Athenian army. Their leader wasn’t familiar at all, so wasn’t one of the generals who had been at the symposium.

A door opened down the hall, briefly admitting the sounds of the street before it closed again. Voices in the front room of the house as men came in, and then footsteps coming closer were the only warning he had before the door was slammed open, bouncing off the wall. His captor stood fuming in the doorway, the arc of a cut just under his eyebrow and that eye swelling shut. Blood had run down his face from the cut, leaving his face a gory mess.

“I spoke to the mercenary,” the man said in a voice seething with anger.

Lykaon stared. “Ah. I see.”

“He asked me to bring you a message. And then did this and he said he didn’t trust me to carry his words.”

“That’s…well, he’s not actually very good with words sometimes.”

“What does it mean? Will he do what I want?”

The doctor spread his hands. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you. I’ve only seen him in peace. To know what he’ll do when under duress, well. You’d do better to ask his ship captain than to ask me. But let me see to your face.”

The man blew out a harsh breath. “I have my own physicians. I don’t need your attentions.”

Lykaon shrugged. “It’s your eye.”

“We will wait for news of him. Then we will know what your fate is to be.” He charged back out the door, slamming it shut, and this time a bar was dropped in on the other side. Lykaon went back to pacing. Three steps, from side to side. One small window, high up, too small for a human being to fit through. All things considered it wasn’t terribly uncomfortable. He’d been in worse places. It’s just that no one had locked him in them.

 

Soldiers, in Alexios’s experience, never looked up unless you threw something at them or shot one of them full of arrows. He followed Demosthenes and his men, staying to the rooftops whenever he could, and noted that they apparently never thought anyone might follow them, either. Lazy, lazy, but he wasn’t going to complain. The cold emptiness in his chest had honed his focus to razor-fine perfection and he could feel Leonidas’s spear working on him, sharpening his vision and muffling his footsteps, wrapping him in shadows. It might demand a price later in exhaustion, but for now it was helping, and he would take it.

The soldiers stopped at a wealthy house he didn’t know, and went inside. Not as large as Perikles’s house, but large all the same. Inner courtyard, upper rooms on two corners. A low wall around a small garden. He slipped over the wall, finding untended shrubs and overgrown weeds growing thickly along it. His expression at the discovery was less a smile than bared teeth as he ghosted through the vegetation. One door ahead, one guard on the door, shield on his back and leaning on his spear. Alexios deliberately rustled the bushes, watching the man’s head swing around. Simple, cheap armor and not much of an impediment to his spear. He whistled, soft and low, and the man started toward him with an oath. As soon as he was in range, the mercenary lashed out, driving the spear into the soldier’s face. He went down without a sound beyond the crunching of bone and the squelch of damaged flesh, right into the concealing greenery.

Alexios ghosted through the open door and into the house, every sense on high alert. Down the hall to his left, one open door and two closed; ahead were two open doors and one closed at the far end on the right, with a single guard standing outside it. Above he could hear the sounds of men in an upstairs room. He felt impossibly calm and cold as his mother’s voice echoed in his ears saying, “Hesitation only hastens the grave.” His breathing steady, he moved for the man at the end of the hall, who was staring into space with the air of someone who doesn’t expect anything to happen. The door behind him was barred.

 

Lykaon had just stretched out on the pallet, looking up at the night sky through the high window, when he heard a high-pitched, inquiring noise and then his view was obscured by a very large bird. He frowned. The bird hopped through the window and flapped awkwardly to the floor, making the sound again.

“Ikaros?”

The eagle waddled over, ungainly on the ground, and seemed to look him over, then leaned forward and pecked him sharply in the arm. “Ow! What in the name of the gods?!” He scrambled to his feet as something banged against the door, flinching as the eagle launched itself onto his shoulder. Then came the scraping noise of the bar being raised, and the door opened. Alexios stood in it, a body at his feet behind him. The spear of Leonidas and the hand that held it were covered in blood and more spattered across his chest and even up onto his face. The hallway behind him didn’t bear thinking about. But it was when Lykaon raised his eyes to meet Alexios’s own and saw the cold grief and emptiness there that his heart broke and he rushed forward, ignoring the brief stab as Ikaros launched off his shoulder to go back to the window.

The mercenary met him, grabbing him up almost too tightly to breathe, burying his face in Lykaon’s neck. The moment was all too brief both of them aware of where they were. “Are you hurt?” asked Alexios in a low, intense voice.

Lykaon shook his head. “I’m fine, Alexiskos. Really I am. The cheek is nothing. Let’s just go.”

He nodded and took Lykaon’s hand. “Where’s the front door? Is there a guard on it?”

“Down the hall here. There wasn’t when I came in.”

There was when they went out. The man died a split second after he saw them as Alexios whipped the spear around, viper-fast, and left the body where it fell. Lykaon flinched but followed his lover into the darkness of the streets.

Alexios would always remember that trip through the back alleys of Athens in the dark as a nightmare, Lykaon’s hand clutched in his own and straining to listen for the sound of feet behind them. His heart had restarted and beat painfully in his throat, his lungs worked again and the air seemed to burn. On his own, Alexios would have taken to the rooftops again but he knew Lykaon couldn’t follow there. On the ground he felt desperately vulnerable, too many blind corners and alleys opening up on his sides. He was hyper-conscious of Lykaon behind him, footsteps and breathing so loud that Alexios felt an entire army of soldiers or common street criminals could be catching up and he’d never know. It was a long, long way back to the house of Perikles.

When they got there, though, the garden was bright with torches, most of the carried by crew of the Adrestia who patrolled with whatever makeshift weaponry was at hand. Given the two Athenian army soldiers still stationed at the gate, Lykaon and Alexios both were relieved to see the friendly, if disreputable, faces of the crew. Alexios detailed one of his lieutenants to go around the house, shutting and doors and shuttering windows, barring them to intrusion. Then he led Lykaon into the house, still not letting go of his hand, and shut the front door behind them. Finally, something of the tautness in his body began to bleed away, his breath coming a little harder as his iron control slipped a notch. There was something awful in his eyes when he turned to Lykaon, who stepped forward and kissed him.

It seemed to the doctor that it took forever for Alexios to respond, but finally the mercenary’s arms came up and encircled him gently, almost tentatively, and then Alexios broke from the kiss to bury his face against Lykaon’s neck. “Shh, I’m here, I’m safe. It’s all right, Alexiskos, it truly is.” He stroked the mercenary’s tangled hair, continuing to murmur to him.

Eventually Alexios swallowed and stepped back, eyes searching Lykaon’s face as he asked, “You’re truly all right?”

“I truly am. The worst injury was to my poor himation. And it was one of my favorites.”

Reaching out to gently cradle his face, Alexios turned it to examine his cheek. “I’ll kill them for this.”

“There’s no need, Alexiskos, truly. Where’s everyone else?”

“Probably the library.”

“I’ll go and meet them there. Why don’t you go and get cleaned up a little, then join us?”

Alexios nodded, then stepped back reluctantly and let Lykaon go, watching him walk the brief distance to the library before cutting across the courtyard to the kitchen and begging the assistance of one of the servant women, who poured water over his hands and forearms while he scrubbed the blood off. His hands started shaking now that it was all over, and wouldn’t stop. He watched them almost clinically, rubbing at his knuckles until they were clean, then dried them on a towel the woman offered him, avoiding her sympathetic eyes. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he headed for the meeting in the library.

The small room was loud, everyone talking over each other. They quieted when he came in, watching him, but Lykaon turned and held out his hands and Alexios went to him, taking them. “Better,” the doctor said, looking him over. “We’ll get the blood off your face later, I suppose.”

“Did you find out who was behind all this?” Aristophanes demanded, interrupting whatever reply Alexios was about to make.

The mercenary turned to the table, resting an arm around Lykaon’s shoulders, and said, voice soft and laden with violence, “Demosthenes.”

Sokrates looked up. “The general?”

Alexios swung an impassive gaze on him. “No, Demosthenes the fishmonger, who had command of enough Athenian soldiers to commandeer a house and take a captive.”

The philosopher had the good sense to look abashed, and Lykaon leaned into Alexios’s side, heedless of his armor. Hippokrates spun a reed pen in his fingers. “Well, then, we must consider our next move.”

“The three of you will stay here with Lykaon. I’m going to go kill every single one of the metrokoites that laid a hand on him, and then I’m going to kill Demosthenes slowly. He’s going to tell me who told him I was retired, and about Lykaon. At dawn, the Adrestia sails for Keos. Lykaon will be on board. I will be hunting down whoever gave Demosthenes his information and killing that person, too. Maybe also their family, to make a point. When I’m done, I’ll take passage for Keos myself.” Alexios's voice was flat and dispassionate.

Three faces paled as Lykaon turned his head to look at Alexios sharply. “You’re not going anywhere tonight. I’m not going anywhere without you. I still haven’t seen the Akropolis, and you are retired from bloodshed. Other than all of that, it’s a delightful plan.”

The mercenary clenched his jaw. “Can we discuss this later?”

“We can discuss this more privately, but later is too late.”

“Fine. We’ll be upstairs.”

Lykaon turned to the others. “Will one of you send up a servant with hot water and towels, please?”

Alexios followed the doctor’s arrow-straight back up the stairs and across the balcony to their rooms, where he carefully barred both doors before turning to find Lykaon sitting on the bed, legs stretched out and leaning back against pillows.

“Gentle Asklepios, I am exhausted. Alexiskos, come. Take off your armor and weapons and rest.”

“I can’t, I—”

“You need to rest, and I need you near me. I have had a long and frightening day and there is one thing I want right now, and that is to use you for a pillow and know that all of this is over.”

Alexios nodded, giving in, and began removing his armor, only pausing to answer the door and take the hot water and towels from the servant who knocked at the door. He dragged the table over beside the bed and set the basin and towels on it, then finally finished by removing his cuirass, setting it aside with care. Stripping out of his chitoniskos, he finally lowered himself to the bed next to Lykaon, who reached across him for a towel, dipping it in the hot water and wringing it out.

“Clean up first, I think, so that we can fall asleep without worrying about getting blood on the bed.” He began gently swabbing the mercenary’s face. Alexios closed his eyes and gradually gave himself over to the ministrations, letting the last of the day bleed out of him and his mind drift. He was interrupted by a hiss as Lykaon moved his arm aside. “You’ve reopened this quite badly, my dear. Didn’t you notice?”

He blinked his eyes open. “I was thinking of other things at the time.”

Lykaon sighed. “I’ll talk to Hippokrates in the morning about sewing it closed. Are you injured anywhere else?”

Alexios shook his head. “No. I’m all right, Lykaiskon. Stop fussing and lie down and rest.”

Nodding, the doctor set the towel aside and unwound himself from his maimed himation and then his chiton before stretching along the mercenary’s uninjured side, his head resting on Alexios’s chest. The heartbeat beneath his ear was steady and strong, and after a moment Alexios brought a hand up to stroke his hair gently, the other arm wrapped snugly around him.

“You told me you were done with leaving me, Alexiskos, do you remember?”

“I remember. But this is—”

“This changes nothing. I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want to remember what it feels like to send you out, not knowing if you’ll live or die. I don’t want either one of us to be alone. So I’m going to hold you to it.”

“So I just let him do this to you? To me?”

“You already killed two of his men.”

“Three.”

Lykaon sighed. “You already killed three of his men. He knows now that he has no way to control you, and if we leave Athens he won’t know where you are, either. He will live his life in fear of every step behind him and noise in the undergrowth.”

Alexios was quiet for a moment, considering, his fingers combing through the curls of Lykaon’s hair. “All right. But we leave as soon as the Adrestia can be ready.”

“Where will we go?”

“Anywhere but here. Epidaurus? Would you like to go there? Maybe to Delos? Just let’s go away from Athens.”

Idly rubbing his fingertips over Alexios’s chest, Lykaon murmured, “I’d like to see them both, why not go first to whichever is closest?”

“It sounds like less work than my plan.”

Lykaon laughed and looked up, and Alexios craned his neck down and kissed him, cradling the back of his head. “I could kill them all for laying a hand on you. And then track them to Hades and kill them again.”

The doctor shifted up a little and nipped Alexios’s bottom lip. “That sounds excessive, best beloved.”

“I don’t think it does.”

 

Alexios woke suddenly at the first touch of light in the morning, eyes open and alert. Lykaon slept against his side and the streets outside were beginning to stir, but nothing moved nearby. He gradually relaxed again, then eased out of bed to tie his chitoniskos around him and fasten it at the shoulders. Moving in barefoot stealth, he quietly began gathering up their things and packing the bag he’d purchased in Piraeus. When Lykaon began to stir he moved back to the bed, timing it to be right there when the other man’s eyes flew open.

“Shhh, Lykaiskon, I’m here. You’re safe.”

The doctor blew out a breath. “I’m a little more rattled than I thought I was, I guess.”

“It happens. You’ll be fine. I was packing while I waited for you to wake up. We still need to roust Barnabas and the crew out, if he ignored my order to have the Adrestia ready at dawn.”

Lykaon yawned. “He’d better have. It was a bad order.”

Alexios leaned down to kiss him. “If you say so, my heart. But it will slow us down if he did.”

“We’re not in a rush, Alexios, we can take our time and leave in a leisurely fashion. We don’t want to look like we’re hurrying.”

The mercenary narrowed his eyes. “When did you get so tactical?”

“When it kept you from running off trying to get killed, and from trying to get me out of bed this early. If you had any sense at all, you’d join me until a more reasonable hour.”

Alexios smiled. “You drive a hard bargain, healer.”


End file.
